The Bella and Voldy Show
by Rannaro
Summary: This story originally started as therapy for writer's block in Fall 2005. Think of it as a pre-DH Book 7. It has no hidden message or recognizable theme, and anyone who claims to be able to locate an actual plot in it is living in a fantasy world.
1. Chapter 1

**The Bella and Voldy Show**

Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into the phone box opposite the Kwiky Mart in Paddleboat-on-Thames at approximately 4:57 in the afternoon. After dialing a number in (appropriately) Phoenix, Arizona, she crossed her arms over her chest and felt herself drop into the ultra-secret headquarters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Of course, that was going to change soon. For weeks the former Thomas Marvolo Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, had been toying with the name Maxwell Smart, a change which would permit everyone to name him again._ And about time, too,_ thought Bella. _As it is, every time I mention him to my hairdresser, she thinks I'm talking about the landlord._

"There you are, Bella!" cried H-W-M-N-B-N. "How have you been serving my greatness this afternoon?"

"Flying hither and yon, Dark Lord, attempting to defeat your nemesis, the one foretold by prophecy who will destroy you."

"Are you still on about that prophecy? I gave up on that weeks ago. A crock, if you ask me, just like that washed up charlatan Trelawney. We found out she took medium lessons from 'Seers R Us' just to fool Dumbledore with her mumbo-jumbo. Not a syllable of truth in it."

"But I thought the Potter brat almost killed you at the age of one. Wasn't that part of the prophecy?"

"Well, about that. It seems there was a little tag on the wand that said, 'Do not dryclean.' It doesn't matter. I got a new one."

Bella looked puzzled. "If I'm not supposed to go after Potter anymore, who do I go after."

"Has anyone been keeping a file on students who already graduated? Like 'Class of '95, Where Are They Now'? I heard from several sources that Angelina Johnson was quite attractive. Athletic, too. Now if you could go after her… No? Bad idea, I guess."

"There was the little matter of taking over the world. And even if you no longer think the Potter boy is a menace, he still considers himself 'The Chosen One,' and he's trying to kill you."

"A mere trifle. I hear the boy couldn't analyze himself out of a paper bag. We could go down to one of those shops that sells kinky toys, buy an inflatable doll, hang a sign around its neck that says 'You-Know-Who' and that would keep him busy for what, six weeks? It's a good thing for him they don't teach rocket science at Hogwarts."

"He found out about the Philosopher's Stone, didn't he?"

"No, he didn't. We were twenty minutes into the conversation before he figured out Snape wasn't there. I don't think it's hit him even yet that Snape was never there. Ah, to be young and obsessed again."

Bella smiled. "The good old days. So we're back to my second question. Who do I go after?"

"Do you think the Johnson girl has a twin sister?"

By the time the Dark Lord worked his way down to Milicent Bulstrode's cat's former owner, Bella was in need of air. Promising to locate and interrogate the cat later in the evening, she escaped into the corridor. _It's dinnertime. If I go to the employee cafeteria, I may find someone who's good for a few laughs. Or at least a mild case of the hiccups._

In fact, Severus Snape was there. He was reading a modest pamphlet entitled _101 Ways to Revive Old Dudes Who Fall from Towers_, which he'd cleverly disguised by replacing its cover with one from an old _Mad Magazine_. The virtue of this was that the few people who glanced at it thought it was a new biography of the Dark Lord and immediately lost interest.

Bella sat at the table opposite Snape. He quickly closed the pamphlet, but not before Bella saw the face on the cover.

"Is that the new biography of the Dark Lord? Let's see."

"This is the Hungarian version. The English is being released in two weeks."

"Drat. I've been looking forward to it for some time."

Snape shook his head as he slipped the pamphlet into a pocket in his robe. _In the battle of wits, I may not have an AK-47, but Bella isn't even armed._

"Have you noticed anything 'different' about the Dark Lord lately?" Bella asked.

"Is this about the aftershave, because I swear I had a cold that day and the salesgirl said..."

"No, no. I mean different in the way he's… That's aftershave? Have you been contemplating a career change?"

"He won't notice if you don't tell him. Now, tell me what's bothering you."

A half an hour later, Snape was tapping gently on the Dark Lord's door. "Did you send for me, sir?"

"No, at least I don't think I did. Did you feel me call you?"

"The Mark started to itch. I thought it might be you." _That or a mosquito bite. There's not much to distinguish them._

"It probably was. I surprise myself sometimes. What did you want?"

"You sent for me."

"Well, then, what did I want?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

"What do I pay you for if not to be able to help me when I've forgotten something?"

"Sir, you don't pay us."

"No? Would you like a raise? Say, fifteen percent over the next six months. How does that sound?"

"Your Lordship is too kind."

"Now, what did I want? Oh, yes! Did you get that spell I sent you? I'd like to try it."

"Sir, that was a spell to grow hair on a billiard ball."

"So?"

"In order to use it, I'd first have to change your head…"

"Did anyone ever tell you what a party-pooper you are, Snape?"

Bella met Snape again in the employee cafeteria. "What did I tell you?'

"He is a little delusional. How do you plan to handle it?"

"Me!"

"You're his favorite. That's what you're always telling me."

Bella thought for a moment. "I may have been mistaken about that."

"Maybe you could protect him from himself. Shield him from the petty cares of daily life. Be his mouthpiece to the rest of the organization."

"Take over."

"I thought I said that."

"In place of the Dark Lord, you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! All shall love me and despair!"

"Don't bury yourself in the part."

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

The biggest and most obvious change was the window treatment in the outer waiting room, which suddenly acquired both a valance and a swag in a chartreuse and magenta plaid. This was to complement the already existing crimson and gold taffeta curtains.

"Tell me again, Snape. This is from…"

"The Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, my Lord. It was a favorite color combination of the Emperor Peter III."

"Well, I guess Bella knows what she's doing."

"She has only your best interests at heart."

"Explain to me again why I never see anyone anymore except you and Bella."

"Your loyal followers have expressed a need for a more metaphysical experience of your presence. You were too accessible to them, and you know what they say about familiarity. They crave a mystical relationship and wish to commune with your greatness from a more respectful distance."

"So they're not just avoiding me?"

"None of us would ever dream of avoiding you. Think of it as pre-mortem deification. Like the pharaohs of Egypt."

"Oh, does that mean I get a pyramid?"

"We were thinking of something more British, like a megalithic stone circle, but if you'd rather have a pyramid…"

"No, no. Stonehenge will do. But Snape…"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Being deified is a dreadful bore."

"You'll get used to it, my Lord."

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Minerva McGonagall put the last touches onto a herbal face mask and was tweezing her eyebrows when she heard a yelp from the fireplace. _They always call just when I'm busy. This'd better not be a request for a donation to Wizard Olympics, or a public opinion poll._ She held her mouth immobile so as not to crack the mask, turned around, and asked, "Who is it?"

"Minerva, what's happened to your fire? It's burning, and… Omigosh! Are you all right? I can call a doctor!"

"Don't be silly, you silly boy," McGonagall muttered through pursed lips. "And don't you dare pretend you've never had a facial. And you can't tell me you don't shave your legs either."

"Yes I can," said Snape. "You want to hear me? I don't shave…" He yelped again, vanished, and was back a moment later with an icepack strapped to his head. "Minerva, there's something wrong with your fire. It's red."

"Well of course it's red. You don't think now that I'm Headmistress that I'm going to have a fireplace with Slytherin colors, do you? So I changed it to red and gold. Pretty, isn't it?"

"Let me guess. You've had a sudden drop in the number of friends who call to chat, and you don't understand why."

"Actually, Severus, that's true. Nymphadora used to call and gossip for hours. She dropped by Thursday last week, barely said hello, and hasn't been back since. Was it something I said? Severus?"

Snape had gone, but was soon back with a chunk of block ice, three electric fans, and an entire case of Klondike bars. "Minerva, red fires are hot."

"That's what I thought, too, and I've always wanted to be in the fashion forefront. Now that I have this wonderful office and the extra pay that goes with an administrative position, I've been doing a little redecorating, not much you understand, just a little here and…"

"Minerva! You're roasting me! Humor me, please! Change the fire back to green!"

"Well, alright. If you're going to be so sensitive about a little color change… Now what's so important that you can't just send an owl?"

Snape waited until the flames turned a cool, comfortable green. "I need to pass on word that the Dark Lord has been neutralized."

"Isn't that a bit drastic? I mean, I know he's our enemy, and most of us want him dead, but still, it seems cruel and unusual… sort of adding insult to injury…"

"Not neutered! Neutralized! No longer a threat. Out of the arena of battle."

"Well why didn't you say so, instead of hinting at unpleasant little operations…"

"Well I wouldn't call it exactly 'little'… Wait a minute! I did no such thing"

"You certainly did!"

"Minerva! I need to pass on word that the Dark Lord is not going to bother us for a while."

"Why not."

"Bella Lestrange has set herself up as the power behind the throne. She controls things now. The Dark Lord is a figurehead."

"Like on a ship? I didn't know he fancied sea travel."

Snape shook his head _This is why that evening we were all discussing the allegory in British literature we ended up having to call 'Reptile Control.' _"More like a puppet, with Bella working the strings."

"Is that wise? Bella can get a little, well, 'cranky.'"

"But she's not a fast thinker, and by the time she's figured out what's happening, it could be all over."

"What is happening, Snape dear?"

"I need to get a message to Dumbledore."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Hadn't you heard? Dumbledore's dead."

Snape cupped his forehead in his hands. There were days when it wasn't worth getting out of bed. "Minerva, I know the official line is that he's dead, but I'm a member of the Order, and I'm in on the secret. Now this message…"

"Oh, but I'm sure he's dead. I certainly hope he's dead. I mean after the funeral and burying him and all."

"You buried Dumbledore? I guess maybe now he _is_ dead. How could you bury him?"

"It seemed like the decent thing to do, much better than leaving him out for the crows. And ants. We're having such a problem with ants… Wait a minute. The Potter boy says you're the one who killed him… Severus, do you think it's wise to call me on this line?"

"The Potter boy will believe anything. There's this bridge in Brooklyn I've been trying to interest him in…"

"What's Brooklyn?"

"That's not important now. Listen, Minerva, Dumbledore wasn't supposed to be dead. He may not have been dead. Where did you bury him?"

"Next to the lake. It was a lovely service. Everyone…"

"In the mud?"

"Well no, of course not. Aside from the crayfish and worms, it turned out we didn't have to. This marvelous white tomb just appeared from…"

"A tomb? He made a tomb?"

"I wish you would stop interrupting me. I used to rap your knuckles in Transfiguration class, and I can do it again."

"Hold on, Minerva. I think I have some floo powder around here somewhere. The maid threw the last batch out, and it took me six weeks to convince her I don't smoke. Ah, here it is. Minerva, if you would be so kind as to lower the shields, I'll come over right away."

"I've always wanted to hear someone say 'Beam me up, Scots Lady.'"

"Minerva!"

"Funny about the shields. I'm never sure if they're up or down. If you accidentally ran into one on your way through you'd be squished like road kill under a steamroller, wouldn't you?"

"Beam me up, Scots Lady…"

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Sp… uh, Snape."

Snape stepped gingerly into what had once been Dumbledore's office. He had to be careful because the size of the hearth was reduced by half due to new black marble facing decorated with egg plaster motifs of vines, acanthus, and stylized pineapples. The rest of the room had been redone as well in early Victoria and Albert 'Balmoral.' One entire wall was covered with a hideously familiar chartreuse and magenta plaid.

"What do you think?" McGonagall asked.

"Charming, I'm sure."

"Do you like it? I know it's a bit 'ethnic' for some people's taste."

"It is unique. I can think of only a couple of people in the world with your vision."

"I am so pleased. Now, why are you here?"

"I need to see Dumbledore's tomb. It's very important."

"It is quite a walk down to the lake, and we wouldn't want the rest of the staff and students to see you. You're not exactly Mr. Popularity right now. Besides, the weather's terrible. Why don't I just show you the pictures from the funeral?" McGonagall crossed over to her desk, casually drawing the curtains across the window as she did so, to block out the brilliant sunshine.

"I'd rather see the real thing, but you do have a point about being seen. Maybe I could look at the pictures now, and go down to the lake after dark."

"That would be so much more sensible. Meanwhile we can chat and catch up with each other's news. I haven't had a chance to talk to you since… well, since. Tea?"

"A cup of tea would be very nice."

"Queen Victoria always took tea with her tenants when she visited the Highlands. She used to remark to one how good it tasted and finally asked what was in the tea. 'Whisky, Ma'am' was the reply. Would you like some of Vicky's favorite flavor?"

"We have a long day ahead of us. Why not?"

McGonagall poured from a dark flask, and watched sweetly while Snape drank his tea, sipping her own from time to time. She had taken none of the whisky. After his head sank onto his folded arms on the table, she rose and went to the fireplace to make a call. A woman with long black hair appeared in the flames.

"We are 'Go' for launch," McGonagall said. The other woman nodded.

McGonagall then rang for a couple of house Elves who lifted the sleeping Snape onto a cot in the corner of the office, where McGonagall cast a few restraining spells.

"Nighty-night," she said, and blew him a kiss as she left the room.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Later that afternoon, McGonagall was perusing an enormous tome replete with the knowledge of one and a half thousand years of development and two centuries of academic codification.

"Let's see, D comes after G, so it should be… no, this is H. I'm sure I know it – A, B, G, D, E, Z… but this is completely different. Who would trust Americans anyway, especially Americans who would call something Funk and Wagnall's? Nasty sounding name. Why couldn't Albus have the Oxford one, even if you do need a magnifying glass to read it? Ah! here are the Ds. Dram…dram… liquid measure equal to one-eighth of a fluid ounce… No, that's wrong, I'm sure. It's equal to four fluid ounces… see weight table… ounce equals eight drams… gill equals four ounces… at six hours per dram…" She glanced over at the still-sleeping Snape. "I really would like to talk to you earlier than a week from tomorrow."

Desperate times require drastic measures, and McGonagall sacrificed an ostrich feather from a beloved hat to tickle Snape's nose with.

After about five minutes, Snape sneezed. _Progress,_ thought McGonagall, and continued tickling.

Another sneeze, a fit of coughing, and Snape was awake, wheezing and spitting out bits of feather. "What are you doing with that thing, woman?"

"You should learn to be more polite to a person who can leave you tied up like a Christmas turkey for the next five years."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" McGonagall rose and went to her desk, bringing back some sheets of paper with rectangles cut from them. "Coupons," she explained, "for disposable diapers. I've been trying to decide what size you need."

Snape blanched. "I'm sure we can discuss this like mature adults."

"One of whom will be wearing diapers. I'm sure we can."

Surrender in the face of overwhelming odds is no disgrace. "What do you want me to do?"

"Vow to obey me, whatever I may require of you." McGonagall paused for dramatic effect. "Pinkie Swear."

"Not that! Anything but that! I'll be your slave for a sabbath of years, but not…"

McGonagall was adamant. "Pinkie Swear," she intoned in a voice fierce as a panther's growl. She held out her little finger. "Well?" she said.

Snape coughed apologetically. "Ahem. I don't want to be pedantic or anything, not having been conscious when it happened, but I seem to be immobilized."

"Oh. Right." McGonagall hooked her right little finger around Snape's. "You promise to obey me, whatever I ask. Pinkie Swear."

"Pinkie Swear," replied Snape, and his bonds were removed.

"Tea?" suggested McGonagall cheerfully.

Snape sniffed suspiciously at his cup of tea. "I'm not sure," he said. "I'm still groggy from the last one."

"But I didn't give you grog. It was good Scots whisky. Well, no, it was a sedative, but you thought it was whisky, so why you're talking about grog…"

"May I have some coffee?"

McGonagall frowned. "You're interrupting again. Don't interrupt," and she twitched her little finger in a menacing way.

Snape was silent.

"Now you have to tell me how you got What's-His-Name to give that Lestrange person so much power, since I would never have expected him to agree to such conditions seeing as he's always been so secretive and, well face it, protective of his own position, though that's really understandable because once you start delegating power it does tend to disappear… Why aren't you answering me?"

"I'm not supposed to interrupt."

"Oh. Well, let me see. You may interrupt, but only when I want you to."

"That's what I like. Explicit instructions."

"I never used bad language and you know it!"

"I wasn't insinuating…"

"I should certainly hope not! This is a refined school for well-brought-up students, and we don't need your evil influences…"

"I'm sorry. You wanted me to tell you something."

"Don't…!" They glared at each other for a moment. The clock ticked in the silence. "We need to establish some ground rules," McGonagall said.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

"What's this?" asked H-W-M-N-B-N.

"Your supper. I thought you might like a change."

"It's moving."

Bella peered at the plate. "Maybe that means it's fresh."

"It doesn't smell fresh. What good is it having house Elves if they can't cook?"

"About that. Have you signed any papers in say, the last month?"

"Just a book contract from my publisher. For an autobiography."

"Did it have strange words in it, like 'lot' and 'square footage' and 'escrow?"

"Now that you mention it…"

"Sneegy says it 'went through' yesterday, and won't take orders anymore. Are you sure you don't want to eat that?"

"Where's Snape?"

"He's tied up with someone… uh, something else at the moment. I'll tell him you were asking."

"Oh, and Bella…"

"Yes, Lord."

"Try McDonald's."

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

The ground rules were fairly simple. Snape was allowed to interrupt freely on alternate Tuesdays before 3:30pm. At all other times he had to raise his right index finger and say, "_Je me leve le doigt_," an incantation McGonagall had learned in her youth when she attended an exclusive convent school outside Porcherie-sur-Marne, an experience that left her with an abiding sense of proprieties and a permanent dislike of penguins.

By this time it was evening.

"Minerva…"

"Ahem."

Snape raised his index finger. "I thought that was only when I had to interrupt."

"I've amended it. What did you want now?"

"About the tomb?"

"I see one must be one hundred fifty years old, have a beard and be dead to get attention around here."

"Are you feeling isolated up in this Tower?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Snape thought fast. "It's a warm evening. Tombstones can be quite cool. What do you say to a little lobster bisque, some pâté de foie gras, a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild '73, and a picnic supper down by the lake?"

"How about a flask of Drambuie and a haggis?"

"Deal!"

The 'flask' turned out to made of an entire sheep's stomach, just like the haggis, and as Snape monitored its contents he began to wonder just how much a Scotswoman could drink and still pick up a seven-ten split for a spare.

To make matters worse, McGonagall was beginning to get – affectionate.

"Ye were the cutest wee bairn I ever did see traipsing down that aisle for the Sorting. Knee-high to a stand of heather, and pale as an Irish banshee, ye were. And clever? Och, I never had a bairn so quick to pick up changing topaz to toads. If I'd ever had a bairn of my own, I'd've wished it to be like you, laddie."

It was near midnight before she drifted off to sleep and Snape, in desperation, finally took a slug of the Drambuie. "Gad! It's made of Scotch whisky!" he sputtered as he spit the stuff out. Some of it sprayed the sides of the tomb, which immediately glowed with an eerie fluorescence.

"Since before your sun burnt hot in space," the tomb intoned, "and before your race began, I have awaited… Drambuie? No, that cannot be right. Minerva, is that you? You know I respect your people and your culture, but we have had this conversation about Drambuie before and…"

"Sir, it's Snape."

"No, no. I know Snape. A pousse cafe or an Amaretto maybe, but never…"

"I'm with McGonagall. She's just gone to sleep."

"Ah, that explains it. Well, I am only programmed to respond to initial contact. You will have to find the communication slot."

"What do I do when I find it?"

"I do not know. I have never been dead before."

Snape searched the tomb carefully and located a narrow vertical slit in the side facing the lake. _Unless it's just a crack in the marble. Now what?_ He tried speaking into it, peering into it, blowing into it, sticking his finger into it, tickling it with a blade of grass, splashing it with Drambuie, feeding it haggis, and shining a Lumos spell into it, none of which worked except the spell singed his eyebrows.

Discouraged, he sat down next to McGonagall, then contemplated the voluminous pockets in her robes. _Maybe she has something I can use._

A minute later the surrounding grass was covered with a brush, a comb, two tubes of lipstick, a book of matches, a receipt for nicotine gum, a corkscrew, half a pack of breath mints, several used handkerchiefs, a racing form for the next day at Ascot, the keys to a Honda Civic, a quill, a bottle of ink, and a small roll of parchment.

Tearing off a narrow strip of parchment and dipping the quill into the ink, Snape wrote in tiny, cramped letters 'Are you in there?' and stuck the paper into the slot.

A long, thin piece of paper unrolled from the bottom of the slot like tickertape. Snape tore it off and read 'It depends on who you are and what you want.'

Snape inserted another piece of parchment. 'It's Severus. I'm going to get you out of there.'

'Right now? It is rather inconvenient.'

'I'm trying to save the world from the Dark Lord.'

'Moldy Vort? He can wait. We just ordered and the floor show is starting in ten minutes.'

'We? How many of you are there?'

'Well, since Trixie left… What business is it of yours anyway?'

'We have to save the world!'

'Has anyone ever told you what a party-pooper you are, Snape?'

Snape paused fifteen seconds to indulge himself with the image of Dumbledore and Voldemort together at last in 'Rage in the Cage' complete with a year's supply of Acme Best Theatrical break-away chairs, then scanned around for something to use.

Desperate times require drastic measures. Snape pocketed the book of matches and began tearing up dry grass and piling it on the tomb. The tickertape clicked like a mad thing.

'Snape, why are you turning a perfectly respectable tomb into a feed lot for every deer in the forest?'

'There are no deer in the forest.' Snape alternated working and writing notes.

'There could be if you want some. What are you doing?'

'A little home improvement project I've been dreaming of for a while.' Snape started emptying the rest of the flask of Drambuie onto the grass.

'Now, now. You know how I feel about Drambuie. And I can assure you almost 85% that no deer, not even Scottish deer…'

'It's not a feed lot. It's a barbeque.'

'That shows how much you know. The alcoholic content of Drambuie is not sufficient…'

WHOOSH! Snape watched with satisfaction as the flames leapt into the air and the intoxicating smell of burning grass and charred Scotch wafted over the lake. Poor Dumbledore had forgotten that it was McGonagall's Drambuie.

The tomb was blackened and its marble cracked in five places. Snape settled himself by the slot with his quill and parchment.

'Did that liven up the floor show?'

The tickertape whirred again in the slot. 'I hope you are satisfied. That was the most fun I have had since 1873 and you had to spoil it.'

'What happened in 1873?'

'Well if you are going to get technical… I do not remember'

'Look, it's late. It's cold. How do I get you out of there?'

'What is in it for me?'

'The eternal gratitude of the whole wizarding world.'

'Sure. That and a nickel will buy me a pack of gum.'

'Gum is a quarter now. Besides, we're British. We use pounds.'

'I use a five-finger discount. It saves having to count change.'

'I thought you were the moral one and I was the evil git.'

'Propaganda. Do not tell me you never noticed.'

'I never noticed.'

'I asked you not to tell me that.'

'Have you been contemplating a name change?'

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Bella Lestrange stared into the popping flashbulbs like a deer into headlights. "And that is why the Dark Lord has asked me to speak for him henceforth. Any questions?"

"No, ma'am, none at all."

Bella glared at the reporter in the second row. "Who asked you?" she said.

"You did."

"No I didn't. That was a general question for the group."

"Then why did you say my name?"

"I didn't say your name."

"Yes you did."

"What's your name?"

"Hensforth McGillicuddy. _Daily Prophet_."

"Oh. Well. Yes. I'll remember it next time. Does anyone else have any questions?"

"_Magical Enquirer_. Is it true you've actually chopped the Dark Lord into little pieces and are slowly feeding him to the staff disguised as chicken salad sandwiches?"

"No."

"Can we ask him to confirm that himself?"

"_Witch Weekly_. Would you like to comment on your ranking in our 'The Person I'd Like to Be the Last Person on Earth With' poll?"

"I don't know. How did I do?"

"You were 6,483,055,102nd, right after Abu, the noseless leper who sits in front of the Mumbai fish market."

"It looks like there are no more questions. This press briefing is over."

Bella Lestrange entered the Sanctum Sanctorum of the Dark Lord. "You rang?"

H-W-M-N-B-N peered at a panel of ropes behind his desk. "Has someone been messing with these bell-pulls again? I thought I rang for Snape."

"Snape is, uh, indisposed."

"Maybe something he ate last night. As soon as he's finished, tell him…"

"No, I mean he can't come. He isn't here."

"Not here? I don't recall giving him permission to go somewhere."

"He said he didn't need it. He's renting you a movie."

"I didn't ask for…What movie?"

"He said he figured out your name is an anagram: _Loves Dial M To Murder_. He thought it must mean you, so he went to get it. How's that for loyalty?"

"There's no S in my name. Come to think of it, there's no U either. And I thought it was 'Dial M for Murder.'"

"Isn't your name 'Tom Marvelous Riddle?'"

"Marvolo! Marvolo!"

"Drat. I could've sworn…"

"WHERE'S SNAPE?"

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Bella sat down to think. Then she went to the fireplace. As green flames sprang up, she said, "Hogwarts, we have a problem."

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

It was getting towards dawn, and Snape was getting nowhere with Dumbledore. Despite the fire damage to the stage and bar, and the flight of Agnes, Serendipity, and Gale ('Are you sure Gale Storm is her real name, sir.') in the wake of the vanished Trixie, Dumbledore wouldn't budge. Snape was getting tired and just a tad cranky. To make matters worse, McGonagall was stirring, or at least beginning to snore.

Quite suddenly, in seeming thin air, a tinny and unidentifiable instrument began trilling the melodic line to the "Ode to Joy" from the Ninth Symphony. Just to prove how cranky he was, Snape ignored it.

'That is Beethoven, Snape.'

'Beethoven is dead.'

'So am I, but it does not stop me from having a good time.'

'Wait a minute! I thought you couldn't hear in there!'

'I… well… It must be the cracks you put in the marble with your shenanigans, you pyromaniac!'

'You mean you couldn't hear my conversation with McGonagall?'

'Not a word of it. Not even the bit about traipsing down the aisle with a face as pale as an Irish banshee.'

Snape stood, trembling with fury. Or maybe it was the cold. Or the Drambuie. "I've got ink stains all over my fingers, and I've gone through half a page of parchment, and you can HEAR!"

The tickertape stopped, clicked a few times, then started again. 'All right, I just cannot talk. I wanted us to be on the same level.'

The "Ode to Joy" started up again, and Snape took a small, thin, rectangular box from his pocket, opened it, and held it to the side of his head. "Hello? – I asked you not to call me at this number. – There is nothing so urgent that you can't fax it. – Do you have any idea what time it is in Britain? – I'm a little busy…" Snape turned away from the tomb and lowered his voice. "All right, I'm thinking of you. I think of you every day. And I wish you sugar-plum dreams as you lay your sweet head on your satin pillow. Hugs and kisses from me, too. Wuv you."

Snape closed the little box as he turned back to the tomb. "Gad," he muttered, "the things you have to do to keep good help these days."

Clickety-click-whirr. 'Snape, what was that?'

"What?"

'You were talking to someone.'

"Just my cell phone."

'A Self-Own? Strange name. What does it do?'

"It's a Muggle form of Floo powder communication. Except you can carry it with you."

'No wonder Arthur likes Muggles. Can you talk to anyone?'

Snape looked thoughtful. "I can. You can't talk." He pulled the cell phone out again. There was a series of faint beeps as he punched in a number. "I'm calling someone now."

'This is fun.'

"Hello, Trixie. You don't know me, but I'm calling on behalf of a friend of yours. – Let's see… tall, long white hair and beard… – No, this one has a pointy hat. – Albikins? Yes, I guess it's Albikins."

'Severus, ask her if she's free tonight.'

"She's never free, but she says she could give you a discount."

'Tell her I shall have everything ready for her.'

"She says she's not slumming any more. She's left that dump for good and has a nice, up-scale apartment. There's an opening at 7:30 if you want it but otherwise…"

There was a hiss, a snap, a pop, and the crackle of electricity, and Dumbledore was standing next to Snape, looking fine except for some minor singeing around the beard. "Give me that thing, Severus. I want to talk to Trixie myself."

Snape handed him the phone. As Dumbledore put it to his ear, he could hear a soft, elegant, female voice saying: _"At the tone, the time will be – four twenty-seven and ten seconds. beep"_

"That is not Trixie, Snape."

"I know."

"You said…"

"I lied. So I'm wicked and evil. So sue me."

"I am not going to play this game. I am going back…"

"Into the tomb? Go ahead. I'll just call the Acme Move-A-Tomb company and relocate you. Maybe to be the new base for Nelson's statue."

"That might not be so bad. It is in central London, no? Trafalgar Square?"

"Do you know how many pigeons there are in Trafalgar Square?"

Dumbledore eyed Snape. Snape eyed Dumbledore. Dumbledore caved first. The pigeons were too much. He tried to change the subject.

"Snape, why is McGonagall lying on the grass?"

"She was trying to drink me under the table."

"And she lost? I do not believe it."

"Well no, she won. I gave up before the first drink. I just didn't tell her."

"I… uh… yes… well… We should get her up to the Castle before anyone sees her like this."

"Do you want to get her head or her feet?"

"I want to get Hagrid. Do you think he's awake yet?

There was a light on in Hagrid's hut.

"You go first," said Dumbledore.

"Why me?"

"Well, I am dead. Or at least I am supposed to be dead. If he sees me, he will think I am a ghost. I do not wish to shock him."

Snape started forward, then stopped and turned. "How thick do you think I am?" he asked. "You're trying to get me killed."

"Moi?" Dumbledore smiled and spread his hands in mock innocence. "What tipped you off?"

"If he thinks you're dead, then he thinks I killed you. How could you let poor Hagrid think you were really dead?"

"It was the only way to get him to bury me."

"You wanted to be dead?"

"You have no idea how long I have been planning this. It was not just the nightclub. There was a sauna, a gym, a massage parlor, a four-star restaurant, a movie theater, tennis courts, and a nine-hole golf course. All I needed was someone dumb enough to think he could throw me off the Astronomy Tower without killing me. No offense."

"But I didn't kill you."

"Well, maybe not that dumb, but you do have your moments. Now, thanks to you and saving the world, it is all gone."

"You can always make it again after What's-His-Name is finished off."

"It wasn't insured."

A crossbow bolt and a loud roar interrupted the conversation. Actually, the roar came first, giving Snape just enough time to avoid being skewered by diving behind Dumbledore.

"Come out from behind that memorial statue, you cowardly little refugee from a John Lennon look-alike contest! I'm gonna shish kabob you if it's the last thing I do!" Hagrid was stumping across the lawn, already fitting another bolt into the crossbow.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Now, now, Hagrid. Let us not be too hasty."

"Stupid ruddy statue. They're always putting these things where they get in the way. If they wasn't so lifelike, I'd chuck 'em in the lake. SNAPE, YOU BLACKGUARD! Come out and face your comeuppance!"

"Hagrid. I assure you I am no statue."

"Well, you ain't no Michelangelo and that's for sure. Nor no Rodin neither. SNAPE! You stand up and take this bolt like a man or I'll kick you into next Sunday!"

"I'd rather study my options if you don't mind," replied Snape, keeping Dumbledore between himself and the formidable bulk of Hagrid.

"I ain't above knocking artwork around to get what I wants to get…"

Dumbledore stepped away from between the two.

"You rat!" Snape screamed. "You absolute rat! Hagrid, listen to me. Would a statue betray someone like that? Who would betray someone like that?"

"Professor Dumbledore?" Hagrid said timidly. "Professor Dumbledore, is that you?"

The three moved into Hagrid's hut where Dumbledore explained, with help from Snape.

"So when Snape threw me off the Astronomy Tower, he was under the impression that it would not kill me."

"It didn't kill you."

"A detail. Besides, it would be a shame to waste such a lovely tomb."

"Well, sir, does that mean you and Professor Snape will be saving the world from You-Know-Who?"

"Snape."

"Sorry, sir. Just Professor Snape, sir?"

"No, I mean call him Snape. He is no longer a professor."

"Wait a minute!" Snape interrupted. "How did I lose my job?"

"You left before exams. It voided the contract. You could be rehired, of course, but you would start at the bottom of the pay scale, lose all your seniority, and be on probation for three years, after which you would qualify for medical and dental insurance."

"But I was just obeying your orders!"

Dumbledore's face lit up with a smile. It was a beatific smile, a gentle and understanding smile, a smile to sooth hurts, heal wounds, and bring peace to discordant families. It was a smile for the ages.

"Prove it," he said.

Snape let the subject drop, making a mental note to dig out a copy of the contract. There had to be a protective clause. Dropping the Headmaster off a tower might come under the section 'Services to the School' or 'Curriculum Improvement.'

Meanwhile Dumbledore finished filling Hagrid in on McGonagall's situation, and the three started back to the lakeshore, Dumbledore and Snape having to trot along smartly to keep up with Hagrid.

McGonagall wasn't there.

"Search the area!" Dumbledore ordered.

Hagrid turned over several rocks.

Snape sighed. "Sir, she must have gone back to the Castle. We'd better go, too. Neither you nor I want to be seen around here yet, and the sun is coming up." _Although,_ Snape thought,_ if they see him alive and well, they can't be angry with me for killing him. Note to self: Stick to Dumbledore._

They got back to the Castle without incident, except for Peeves in the entrance hall, who took one look at Dumbledore, screamed "A ghost!" and fainted dead away.

The stairway to the Headmaster's office was locked. Dumbledore stood in front of the griffin statue and tried passwords: _Fudge Toffee – Cherries Jubilee – Chocolate-covered Baby Bees… _Nothing worked.

In frustration and disgust, Snape finally pushed Dumbledore aside. "Sean Connery!" he commanded, and the stairway began to move.

"How did you know that?" Dumbledore asked, peering over the rim of his glasses.

Snape shrugged. "McGonagall has a slightly different view of what constitutes 'candy.'"

The three ascended to the Headmaster's office to find the Headmistress waiting for them with drawn wand. Snape immediately slipped behind Hagrid, reasoning that McGonagall would have to get at least three shots in before Hagrid even felt it, much less reacted. Dumbledore looked at him quizzically.

"You have developed some new habits since I left," he said.

Meanwhile McGonagall was turning several attractive shades of purple and fizzing like a shaken soda can. "You… what're you doing here? You're supposed to be dead!" she gasped, turning the trembling wand on Dumbledore.

"That is precisely what I kept trying to explain to Severus, but he had some kind of mental block about the concept. Pity about the tomb. Maybe you could use it for a planter."

"Psst," said Snape, reaching out and tugging Dumbledore's sleeve. "Fireplace."

"Yes, yes, Severus. I see the fireplace. And the walls and curtains. Minerva, who did you bring in as a decorator…"

"No!" Snape hissed. "Fireplace. Green."

"Now I know you have had a hard night, Severus, but I assure you that the new additions to the fireplace are black and white. Are you sure you were not imbibing a little of the lighter fluid you used on my tomb?"

Dumbledore had turned his back on McGonagall to address Snape, and now she was inching toward the hearth. Snape banged his head against Hagrid in exasperation.

"It's green, you Dunderhead! The fire is green! She's been talking to someone by Floo powder."

"Oh. Yes. I was just getting to that. Minerva…?"

But McGonagall had grabbed the dish of Floo powder, ducked under the new fireplace surround, cried out "Headquarters!" and vanished in a dazzling light display of emerald and chartreuse sparks.

"Now where was she going in such a hurry?" Dumbledore asked.

"Headquarters," replied Snape. "Paddleboat-on-Thames. I have a bad feeling about this."

Dumbledore looked concerned. "Have you tried Tums?" he asked.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

"Tell me again about What's-His-Name," Dumbledore said.

"He's losing it. We enter Headquarters through a telephone booth. He keeps saying things like, 'Missed it by that much' and 'Would you believe…' He wants to give us numbers instead of names, and tried to get us all to call Bella '99.' She thought we were referring to her age and turned Rabastan and Alecto into dormice before we could explain. It wouldn't be so bad except he wants me to act like a robot and change my name to 'Hymie.'"

"He may have figured that it is the only way anyone will ever call him 'Smart.' Well, you know what I must ask you to do, Severus. If you are ready. If you are prepared."

"Humph," said Snape. "The last time you said that to me, I ended up being tortured for three hours. So what if I'm not ready? What if I'm not prepared? What if I park my little half-muggle rear end in that chair over there and study how not to be prepared for say… the next six months? What then?"

Dumbledore turned to Hagrid. "Do you see what I mean about new habits? I go away for a couple of months and he's hiding behind people and refusing assignments. You know, Severus, you never used to be so…"

"Intelligent? You're right. I used to be the biggest pushover in Hogwarts."

"Now, now, Severus. This time I really need you."

"You need a barber, too, but I don't see you letting that stop you."

"Any ideas?" Dumbledore asked Hagrid.

"I could sit on him."

Dumbledore wheeled, wand in hand, and cried, "_Accio Snape's wand_" before either of the other two realized what was happening. "Now," he said to the flabbergasted Snape, "you and I are going to have a heart-to-heart chat."

"It hurts me," said Snape slowly, his hands at shoulder height, palms forward, "when you don't trust me."

"Trust?" responded Dumbledore. "Consider it rather a sign of respect."

"You respect me?"

"I respect your wand." Dumbledore turned to Hagrid. "Stay close," he said. "I may still need you to sit on him." Then he faced Snape again. "Please sit down, Severus. Watching you fidget gives me hives."

Snape sat on the edge of the chair. Hagrid came and stood beside him. Snape jumped up and circled to the other side of the room.

"I wasn't going to sit down yet," said Hagrid.

"You just watch yourself," said Snape. "I like my knees the way they are."

"Both of you sit down!" Dumbledore shouted. "Hagrid, you first."

Hagrid sat heavily on a sturdy side chair. Snape chose an armchair on the other side of the room. Dumbledore perched on his desk where he could watch both of them.

"You know we need someone on the inside, Severus. Getting Hagrid under cover would be like trying to sneak in Mt. Everest. And I could no more disguise myself as a Death Eater than Lou Alcindor could play a Munchkin."

"Kareem Abdul Jabar," said Snape.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Kareem Abdul Jabar. He changed his name."

"No. That would be like Cassius Clay…"

"Muhammad Ali."

"How long have I been away?"

"Most of your life it would seem. Do you still want me to infiltrate Headquarters?"

"Does summer follow spring," rejoined Dumbledore archly. " Does an elephant have a trunk? Do the Braves play for Boston?"

"Milwaukee," said Hagrid.

"Atlanta," said Snape.

"Is there anything about American sports that has not changed?" cried Dumbledore in frustration.

Snape thought for a moment. "The Yankees?" he suggested.

Dumbledore drummed his fingers on the desk as he eyed Snape. "We still have to figure out a way to get you into Headquarters."

"I still don't want to go."

"We just have to find a way to make _here_ less attractive than _there_."

"_There_ I'm going to get roasted by Bella and Minerva. You're going to have to be really creative about _here_."

"How do you feel about Grindylows sucking your toes."

"Love them. Bring them on."

"Lethifolds squeezing the breath out of your body."

"My next favorite, right after toe-sucking Grindylows."

"You are trying to be difficult."

"Moi?" said Snape innocently. "What tipped you off?"

"Now you are being cheeky."

"I don't have a lot to lose."

"What if I give you your job back, with a six percent cost of living raise, two extra weeks vacation, a larger office with a view of the lake, medical, dental, and zero deductable on your wand insurance?"

"Really? That's wonderful! I'll take it."

"Good. Now, infiltrate Headquarters or I fire you."

"Wait a minute!"

"That is not enough to lose? I can add a five hundred galleon Christmas bonus before I fire you."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir. You want I should sit on him now?"

(to be continued)


	2. Chapter 2

**The Bella and Voldy Show: Part II**

"Hello?" The voice came tentatively from the glowing green embers. "Bella? Minerva? Anybody home? – Guess not. – Well, here goes."

Snape stepped carefully onto the hearth, brushing stray Floo powder from his black frock coat. Neatly reordering the Insta-Log on the grate to remove all trace of his passage, he silently turned toward the door, tripped over the supine body of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and fell flat on his face.

"Son-of-a-witch! Who's the idiot who left the laundry on the floor? – Oh, It's you. What are you doing down here?"

H-W-M-N-B-N didn't answer, that being the typical response of a person who has been placed under a body-bind curse. Snape reviewed the possibilities, the major problem being that the Dark Lord could probably still see and hear.

'_What would be the most trouble in the long run, leaving you here mad at me, or taking you along to mess things up?'_ Snape thought, then bowed to the inevitable. "_Liberacorpus_," he said, and the Dark Lord was free.

"What kept you? I rang hours ago! You'd better be more subservient, or I'm going to get another Number Two."

Snape opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. Looking in astonishment past the Dark Lord's shoulder he said, "Bella! What a pleasant surprise to see you here."

The Dark Lord jumped ten feet in the air and came down behind Snape. "Where?" he gasped, staring around the room, "Where?"

"If you're a mind reader, I'm a little dog named Toto," said Snape contemptuously. "Now really, where's the Wicked Witch of the West?"

"Why"

"I'm going to drop a house on her."

"Snape?" ventured H-W-M-N-B-N as they crept along the surprisingly empty corridors of Headquarters.

"Yeah? What?"

"There – there was someone else."

Snape stopped. "Someone else? That sounds like you're trying to break up with me. How many times do I have to tell you? We aren't an item, we never were an item, and we'll never be an item. You are not my type. Nobody even remotely like you has ever been my type. You have got to let go…"

"Not you, idiot. Bella. There was someone else with Bella."

"Oh."

"She stepped out of the grate, just like you did. A vision. A heavenly vision…"

Snape had a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was either a premonition or acid reflux. Maybe both. "What did she look like?"

"Tall, slim, regal. Dressed in green – that's my favorite color you know – green plaid. And she reminded me of something… something wonderful from my past. A moment when I dared dream of happiness in a human framework…"

Snape whipped out a slide rule and did some quick calculations. "Have you always been attracted to older women?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. When I was in fifth year there was this seventh year student that – seeing her on her way to Ancient Runes with her books held close to her… well, it just made me feel good all over, if you know what I mean."

"I'll pass. Did you know her name?"

"Alas, no. I was too shy." Seeing Snape's incredulous look, H-W-M-N-B-N got defensive. "You know it is a lot easier to conquer the world than to ask a girl for a date."

"I'll take your word for it," said Snape.

Now added to the puzzle of where everyone was, Snape had to deal with this new tidbit of information. How would McGonagall react? Ballistic, probably. Not good to be within range when that one launched.

Rounding another corner to stare down another empty corridor, Snape turned again to H-W-M-N-B-N. "You must have some idea where everybody is."

"Staff picnic?"

"It's raining."

"Christmas Party?"

"You hate Christmas."

"Morning calisthenics?"

"Please tell me that was Bella's idea."

"To tell the truth, I've been a little worried about my weight. You know how the pounds just slowly creep up on you, and then one day you step on the scale and…" H-W-M-N-B-N paused at the expression on Snape's face. "It was Bella's idea," he concluded.

"We don't have any place large enough for the whole staff to gather and do calisthenics."

"The Albert Hall."

"Come again?"

"They all apparate over to the Albert Hall, Bella hangs up a 'Closed for Renovations' sign and…"

"They're all in Kensington?"

"I wish you wouldn't interrupt so."

Snape was reminded of McGonagall. 'You two are going to get along great,' he thought.

Suddenly, Snape had an idea. Grabbing H-W-M-N-B-N's arm, Snape steered him back to the Inner Sanctum. There he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the flames. "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts," he said. "Professor? Are you there?"

Hagrid answered. "Oh, it's you, Mr. Snape."

"Professor. I got my job back. Complete with Christmas bonus. Or don't you remember. Where's Dumbledore?"

"Uh… yes, Professor… uh, Mr.… uh… He's busy right now. Interviewing for an open position."

"We don't have any open positions."

"Well, about that, now… Since Slughorn took over Dark Arts, we have a vacancy in… Potions, and…"

"Wait a minute! What about me?"

"How do you feel about assistant librarian?"

"Get Dumbledore over here and get him over here NOW!"

The mild, slightly myopic visage of Dumbledore appeared in the green flame. "You know, Severus, this is a most inopportune interruption. Trixie was just explaining how to…"

"Trixie!" exclaimed H-W-M-N-B-N. "How do you know Trixie?"

"It seems to me," mused Snape, "that Trixie knows just about everybody."

"Well, naturally in one sense that would be true," said H-W-M-N-B-N, "but Dumbledore?"

"And just what," said Dumbledore, sounding slightly miffed, "are you implying? I am, after all, only eighty-three years older than you are."

"You are?" Snape glanced surreptitiously down at the slide rule again. "That means you're a hundred and fif…"

"Enough about me, Severus! What did you want?"

Snape took a deep breath. "You have to come over here right away. Bring Hagrid."

"But Severus, that would be walking right into the enemy's lair."

"I'm not so sure I like this idea either, Snape," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "After all, Dumbledore doesn't exactly have a reputation for playing fair, and having him right in the middle…"

"What do you mean I do not play fair? I have always played fair with you! You are the one…"

"What about my grade on my Transfiguration OWL? You know I deserved an Outstanding. You gave me an Exceeds Expectations just because of that little accident with the sulfuric acid and the water balloon the week before…"

"I thought you got Outstanding on all your exams," said Snape. "That's what you've been telling us."

"He has?" Dumbledore grinned. "He failed Ancient Runes. Not an iota of linguistic talent whatsoever. I think he only took the class because there was a girl he liked…"

"Yes, yes, we know all about her." Snape paused. "Professor, you have to come over here. Bella and Minerva have taken the entire staff to Kensington. They're doing jumping jacks in the Albert Hall right now, but they'll be back soon. I think the four of us together can hold Headquarters against them."

"Now wait just a minute! You're asking me to join Dumbledore against my own organization?"

Snape faced H-W-M-N-B-N. "You're talking about the people who left you on the floor of your own office in a full body-bind curse. I, for one, would hesitate to think of them as yours anymore."

"Well, if you put it like that…"

The fire suddenly glowed a brighter green. Snape and H-W-M-N-B-N stepped aside to allow Dumbledore to pass into the office. A moment later, Hagrid followed him.

Or at least Hagrid tried to. Hogwarts was an ancient building with an enormous hearth in every room. Paddleboat-on-Thames was lucky to have one fireplace which, if they had ever lit a real fire in it, would probably burn the entire building down. There is a particular mindset among the non-magically challenged that tends to misinterpret the phrase "up to code." Suffice it to say that the hearth area was smaller.

Hagrid was stuck.

"Take a deep breath," counseled Dumbledore, "and suck in your belly."

"I don't think his belly is the principal problem," said Snape. "Weren't you going to have this enlarged after Rabastan put on all that weight and we had to have the fire brigade in to wedge him out after the Christmas Party?"

"I thought you said I hated Christmas." H-W-M-N-B-N was beginning to sound miffed. "I'm beginning to wonder if I should trust everything you tell me."

"Have you noticed that about Snape?" asked Dumbledore. "I mean, one never knows what he is thinking, and the odd way that one keeps hitting those funny gray spaces in his brain when trying to read him has always bothered…"

"Does that happen to you, too? I thought it was me. The wrong frequency maybe, or dead air space. We have trouble with the cell phones sometimes, and I thought it was the…"

"You have a self-own, too? Snape has one. I had never seen them before. He was going to call Trixie for me, but all she told me was the time… Now, about Snape…"

"Do you have any idea what those gray spaces are?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"For crying out loud!" Snape snapped at the two of them. "That's what happens when I don't want you to see something I'm thinking!"

"You can do that?" said H-W-M-N-B-N. "For how long?"

"Excuse me," said Hagrid. "Is anyone going to pull me out of the fireplace?"

Snape looked at Hagrid with some trepidation. "Pull you out of the fireplace? I doubt it. We might pull the fireplace out, but it would still follow you wherever you went. Sitting down would be hard. Why don't you just hang around until you lose some weight?"

"I should've sit on you when I had the chance, you poor excuse for a vampire."

"I'm not a vampire."

"That ain't what I heard."

"Let me get this straight," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "You can stop us from seeing what you're thinking?"

"Did I like the tie you got me for Christmas?" Snape countered.

"I thought you did. You thought you did, and I read your thought."

"Wait," said Dumbledore, "was that the wavy green and purple one with all the little Sponge Bob Squarepantses in rodeo attire...?"

"See! He liked it so much he even wore it at Hogwarts!"

"Well, he was not exactly wearing it."

"But he showed it to everyone…"

"Not intentionally. I think that was more a matter of high wind and a defective lock."

"Did you LIKE the TIE?" H-W-M-N-B-N insisted, staring Snape straight in the eyes.

"One of my favorite articles of apparel. I wear it daily except…" Snape glanced at his watch, "Tuesdays. Tuesday is my casual day."

"See! See!" H-W-M-N-B-N was practically jumping up and down. "There's one of those funny gray spots. Dumbledore, look!"

Dumbledore was not looking. He had quite suddenly remembered that he used to be the transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. He was deep into the process of transfiguring Hagrid into a large pastrami sandwich with mustard, sauerkraut, and a pickle, reasoning, not without justification, that if the sandwich were still too large they could solve Hagrid's problem with the fireplace while saving the trouble of going out for lunch.

"Hagried, do you happen to be kosher?" Dumbledore asked just before speaking the incantation.

"I don't think so." Hagrid replied, not understanding the question.

"Would you like to be? I love kosher pastrami."

"Wouldn't that involve a _bris_?" asked Snape, momentarily distracted from the problem of the tie.

"What's that?" said H-W-M-N-B-N, fascinated at the complexity of the world outside Paddleboat-on-Thames.

Snape explained. H-W-M-N-B-N watched Snape's eyes carefully as he listened in disbelief, but there were no gray spots. Hagrid appeared a trifle nervous. "Now, Professor Dumbledore," he said, "you'll be careful what spell you're using."

But Dumbledore had a mad, fanatic, delicatessen gleam in his eye. He was lifting his wand…

"Oh for crying out loud," said Snape. Turning his back on H-W-M-N-B-N and stepping in front of Dumbledore, he pointed his wand at Hagrid and cried, "_Treyf!_" Facing Dumbledore he snapped, "Just try to make that kosher."

He had turned Hagrid into a ham and swiss on rye.

Dumbledore turned toward Snape. To say he was peeved would be to understate the obvious to a degree not attained since Calvin Coolidge explained unemployment. "You do understand that I am irritated with you."

"Stand in line. It's been one of those days."

"No, I mean really irritated. Loading-you-with-hair, docking-your-ears-and-tail, and entering-you-in-"Best-of-class"-for-schnauzers irritated. I was not Transfiguration teacher all those years for nothing, you know."

"Tell me something, Headmaster, as I am dying to know. Which irritates you more, the kosher pastrami or the _tête-á-tête_ with Trixie?"

Dumbledore froze, dumbfounded, his mouth partway open to say something that never came out.

"Would you like an easier question?" Snape asked, then shrugged when he got no answer.

"What's wrong with him?" said H-W-M-N-B-N waving a hand in front of Dumbledore's face.

"Overload. You used to be able to do it with computers until they started building them with an automatic shut-down. Ask it to calculate _pi_ to the last digit, for example. Stupid thing would just sit there calculating forever, drawing more and more energy into a unsolvable problem."

"What's a computer," asked H-W-M-N-B-N "I know what pie is, being partial to French custard. And what's it got to do with Dumbledore?"

"Think of it as the hungry donkey between the two bales of hay."

"Will he stand there forever?"

"That or until he decides whether food or women is more important."

As there was no response, Snape turned to H-W-M-N-B-N, only to find the same stupid expression on his face. _Great minds think alike, I guess_.

Snape moved the ham sandwich out of the fireplace, waved his wand, and brought Hagrid back. "What's wrong with them?" Hagrid asked.

"Tell me, Hagrid. Which is more important, food or women?"

"Food," said Hagrid at once. "Then you offer it to the woman and you got both."

"Where are you going?" Hagrid asked as Snape put his hand on the doorknob to leave H-W-M-N-B-N's inner office.

"To make sure Bella and Minerva can't get back in with the Death Eaters."

"How can you do that, one wizard against an army?"

"By applying the art of a totally different, even more powerful wizard. An American wizard from a place called Menlo Park, New Jersey."

"Didn't know them American wizards was so great. Thought they was too interested in gadgets."

"This gadget I need to find will keep Bella out of here."

"What's it called?"

"A circuit breaker."

"Odd name."

The fuse box was hidden under a wall panel near the cafeteria kitchen. The thing hadn't been opened for years, and Snape spent twenty minutes trying to force the frozen hinges before he remembered he had a half-giant standing next to him.

"Hagrid," he said nonchalantly as he stepped carefully out of the way, "would you mind opening this box? It seems to be stuck."

"Wizards," humphed Hagrid, who'd been watching Snape's efforts with some amusement. "All high and mighty as long as they can wave a little stick in the air, but ask 'em to do a bit of work and they goes weak as kittens. Why don't you magic it, 'Professor?'"

"And fry all the circuits? Seal the fire doors and shut off the ventilation? How long would I last in here with you? Do you know how much carbon dioxide and methane you produce in an hour?"

Hagrid had no answer for this as he didn't understand the question, though he rather imagined it was meant to be insulting. He filed it in the section of his mind labeled 'Things to Thump Snape for the Moment He's Not Looking,' stepped forward, and tore the panel cover off the fuse box.

There were about a hundred little black toggle switches, each controlling a different circuit, and each labeled in miniscule handwriting on a tiny tag. Snape peered at one label, then pulled a small oblong box out of a pocket in his frock coat, opened it, and pulled out a gadget made of wire and glass.

"Don't. Say. Anything," he hissed at Hagrid as he opened the spectacles, put them on, and began to read the tags.

It was amazing how many things were being powered through that one fuse panel. There was a circuit breaker for the Inner Sanctum, of course, two for the cafeteria, and two more for the kitchens, plus various offices. What intrigued Snape were switches labeled with names like garage (I didn't know we had cars. What do wizards need with cars?), weight room, theatre, squash court, post office, travel agent, and maternity ward. _What are we doing? Powering half Middlesex?_

Snape finally located the one labeled "Secret Entrance/Telephone Box/Lift" and toggled the switch to break the circuit.

"That should do it," he told Hagrid. No one can apparate in due to the protective spells, and now they can't use the main entrance either. The only other way in or out is the fireplace in the Dark Lord's office."

"You said Dark Lord. I thought only the bad guys said that. I thought the rest of us said You-Know-Who. Whose side are you really on, anyway, ours or… Voldemort's?"

Snape yelped as if he'd just been burned with a hot iron and clutched his left forearm. "What do you think you're doing, saying his name like that! None of us says his name!"

"You mean Voldemort? None of you says Voldemort?" Hagrid watched with a speculative expression as Snape yipped and grabbed his arm two more times, then a satisfied grin spread over Hagrid's face.

"Voldemort!" Hagrid said once more just to be sure. Sure enough, Snape jumped about two feet in the air and came down with his wand pointing at Hagrid. Hagrid pressed his upper teeth into his lower lip, ready with the V-, and they stood facing each other for a minute and a half.

Finally Snape backed down. "Okay, I'll put up my wand if you open your mouth."

Now there were times Hagrid could be really dumb, but this was not one of them. He steadfastly refused to answer, knowing the moment he said something his mouth would open and Snape would be in there with a spell. Snape reluctantly put his wand back into its special pocket in his jacket.

"Let's go back and see what the Bobbsey Twins are doing," he said to Hagrid.

"What twins are those?"

"You know – Tweedle-dum and Tweedle–dee."

"I don't know nobody named Tweedle."

"For crying out loud! Dumbledore and –"

"V–" Hagrid began, but Snape had his wand out like Wyatt Earp on one of his good days, and they were stalemated again.

"We," said Snape, "have got to arrive at some sort of _modus vivendi_.

"You got to stop using them long words, or we'll never figure out how to get along together."

Snape started to say something, thought better of it, closed his mouth, and put away his wand. Together the two of them made their way back to H-W-M-N-B-N's office.

There was nobody there.

Snape and Hagrid opened every cupboard door and every drawer in the desk, but Dumbledore and H-W-M-N-B-N weren't there. Then they tried the cafeteria, the sauna, the bowling alley, the men's room (the ladies', too, just in case), both hairdressing salons, and the tea shop with the Renoir prints on the walls. Nothing.

On the way back to the office, Snape heard a distant banging, as if someone were pounding on metal. Following the sound, he and Hagrid neared the exit – the secret exit that was also the secret entrance. The reason for the pounding became clear. The lift was stuck, having been stopped in its ascent when Snape flipped the circuit breaker.

Snape knocked on the steel door and the banging stopped. "Sir?" he asked tentatively, "Are you stuck in the elevator?"

There was silence. A very pregnant silence.

"Sir," Snape repeated, "are you stuck in the elevator?"

There was the sound of a throat being cleared and then H-W-M-N-B-N's voice filtered through the shaft and the metal doors. "Just which one of us are you asking?"

"I hadn't thought about it," said Snape, thinking fast. "It was just a general sort of a question."

"Well there's two of us in here, and we both want to know who enters your mind first when you say 'Sir.'"

"Could I consult a solicitor before answering?"

"If you think you could find one down here, you're welcome to. I wouldn't want to be accused…"

"Now, Severus," interrupted Dumbledore. "you know that unless Hagrid has passed his bar examination in the last, oh, twenty minutes, there are no solicitors down here. That is a delaying tactic."

"It's hard to put one over on you, Headmaster."

"So answer the question."

"I'd prefer to invoke the Fifth Amendment."

"You're not an American."

"That can change. I understand wizards who are expert Potions Masters qualify for employment-based immigrant status as aliens with extraordinary abilities, or as outstanding professors and researchers. It's about a six-month administrative process, and after residence in the States for five years I could apply for citizenship, though there's a couple of years backlog there. If you'd like to wait, that is."

"No, I think we can resolve this more quickly on our own," said Dumbledore. Then Snape could hear him whispering to H-W-M-N-B-N, apparently unaware that the elevator shaft acted as an amplifier, "I told you he would not fall for that."

"Well, there's got to be some way to find out which of us he's really working for."

"Do you not think it would be better to wait until we are free?"

"Aha! You see! You're not worried about him. That means you're sure he works for you. That's why you're so willing to get out and join him against me!"

"On the other hand, Headmaster," said Snape calmly, "he may just be pretending to be nervous to lull you into a false sense of security, so that when you come out, the two of us can jump you."

"Oh, you are good!" said Hagrid. "Can you teach me how to do that? I've been wanting to do that for nigh on fifty years now."

Snape stared at Hagrid in wonder. "I thought you liked Dumbledore."

"Well, you know, there's like and there's like. There's not much to choose from when it's the only game in town."

"Have you tried a Temp Service? Sometimes they can hook you up with really good opportunities."

"I checked into it once, but they're not keen on having anyone who can't fit through a standard sized doorway."

"I see where you might have a problem."

"Gentlemen, what about us?" exclaimed Dumbledore somewhat peevishly.

"I've been meaning to ask," responded Snape. "Where did you think you were going when you got into that thing, anyway?"

There was another whispered conference, punctuated with words like 'unsuspecting,' 'occupied,' 'creep up,' and 'count to three.'

While the duo in the lift debated, Snape hummed a simple tune. (Actually, it was the _Di quella pira_ aria from _Il Trovatore_, but since none of the others would have been able to pick it out from a line-up of hip-hop numbers, it really didn't matter.) After a few minutes, he tried again.

"If you were given a choice, where would you like to go?"

That got a more positive response. "I've always been fond of Vienna," said H-W-M-N-B-N.

"Blackpool," replied Dumbledore.

"Can they do that?" asked Hagrid. "In that little compartment, I mean."

Snape shook his head. This was taking 'unclear on the concept' to astronomical new heights. "I think we should just get them out," he said to Hagrid. "The lift cab itself seems to be about six and a half feet above this floor level, so if you pry the doors open, they could jump down."

"I'm not sure that's wise, Professor."

"I don't think it'll hurt them. It's not that far. Even Dumbledore could do it."

"No, begging your pardon, Professor, but have you thought…"

"Do you think it's beyond your strength? Because I believe they're made to be able to rescue people."

"I just thought you may have forgotten…"

"Just put your fingers there, where the doors meet, and pull them open."

Hagrid shrugged and did as he was told. At the point where the doors were about three inches apart, two things happened at once. Dumbledore screamed, "No, you fool!" and a bolt of red light shot out of the lift, struck Snape in the chest, lifted him about four feet in the air, and slammed him against the wall.

Lumbering away from the lift, Hagrid bent down to regard the unconscious Snape. "I only meant that you forgot to take their wands away from them. But I think you know that now."

Meanwhile Dumbledore and H-W-M-N-B-N finished prying the doors open and scrambled down to the floor. H-W-M-N-B-N looked quite pleased with himself.

"There's another enemy gone!" exclaimed H-W-M-N-B-N. "I am sooo looking out for us!"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes and assumed the expression one normally uses when addressing a kindergarten audience. "He was going to let us out anyway, you numbskull. Not to mention that he was the one who made that thing stop in midair like that. How are we going to get it started again?"

"Bella will know," exulted H-W-M-N-B-N.

"Excuse me," said Hagrid.

"Bella cannot get in," said Dumbledore.

"Oh," said H-W-M-N-B-N. Then, a moment later, "Why is he just lying there like that?"

"I may be wrong, but it could have to do with the spell you threw at him. What was it? It was nonverbal."

"I cast a nonverbal spell? That has to be a first. I flunked my charms OWL because I couldn't do any… Wait!… I have to find my old charms professor and tell him…"

"I shall look him up and let him know. WHAT SPELL DID YOU CAST!"

"Excuse me," said Hagrid.

"I think it was Stupefy. Imagine – I got old Snape with a Stupefy spell. That's got to be worth fifty points toward a trip to Disneyland."

"You do not want to go there. 'It's a Small World' and the Tiki Village – boring. And the Haunted Mansion had potential, but they dumbed it down for the younger set. Not your kind of thing at all." Dumbledore was really thinking about the Stupefy spell.

"Excuse me," said Hagrid.

"Oh. It is you. What do you want?"

"I think I know how Professor… er, Mister… er, Snape… stopped that little cab thing. And I think I could show you how to do it."

"Well why did you not say that earlier, Hagrid!"

Hagrid led the way back to the fuse box. Just to be on the safe side, they brought Snape with them on a stretcher.

"You know," said H-W-M-N-B-N, "he looks quite peaceful like that. Normally, of course, he's fidgeting all over the place. It makes you want to hit him just watching him. I mean, honestly, how can one relax with a nice massage if someone else is drumming his fingers and sucking his teeth? I certainly can't. I mean, after all…"

"Do you mind?" said Dumbledore.

"Mind? I don't think I mind. It depends about what. There are certain things one can't help minding…"

"I mean stop."

"Stop what? You really have to be more specific because if you don't…"

"Stop babbling. I would take Snape fidgeting any day and be thankful."

"Babbling? I'm sure I don't babble, well no more than the next man, and that's not saying much since…"

"I swear to Merlin," said Dumbledore, rounding on H-W-M-N-B-N in total frustration, "you have got absolutely the worst case of verbal diarrhea I have ever heard in my life. Do you not ever shut up?"

H-W-M-N-B-N opened his mouth, closed it again, looked to Hagrid for support, found none, opened his mouth, shut it, and finally folded his arms across his chest, looked to one side, and said, "Well!"

"And you are no Jack Benny, either!"

Hagrid opened the fuse box, and the two wizards examined the circuit breakers. "What do these do?" asked Dumbledore, prodding one with his wand. Nothing happened.

"They turn things off," replied Hagrid. "You just got to know which ones."

Dumbledore examined one of the tags. "Do they turn things on, too?"

"I suppose. Professor Snape, he wasn't interested in turning nothing on when we was here last."

"Which one did he use?"

"Can't say for sure. Somewhere in the third row." Hagrid studied the switches.

"Wait!" whispered H-W-M-N-B-N. "The little switch thingies don't all point in the same direction. Most are down on the right side, but some are down on the left side. Maybe the down-left ones are off. If we down-right them, we'll turn them back on again."

"I hate to say it," said Dumbledore, "but that actually made sense." He nudged Hagrid. "Hagrid," he said, "just right that one down."

"I'd need a quill and some parchment, Professor, and I'm not sure what good it would do."

"Maybe we just need to right them all down."

"Seems a waste of time and energy to me, sir. Not to mention ink."

"Then why mention it? And we must expend some energy if we are to get out of here."

"Here's a good one!" cried H-W-M-N-B-N. "Look, this one says CCTV, and it's down-left."

"What does that mean?" asked Dumbledore. "We should not be downing things we do not understand."

"Pshaw. Don't think of it as down-righting. Think of it as up-lefting."

"I think music is up-lifting," said Hagrid. "That or a good magazine. Playboy, now that's very up-lifting."

"What are you talking about?" asked Dumbledore.

"Just trying to be part of the conversation," Hagrid said, pouting.

"I still," said Dumbledore, "want to know what CCTV means."

"Isn't it obvious," responded H-W-M-N-B-N. "It means 'Chicks Come To Voldemort.' They must down-right it when I'm feeling lonely."

"Be honest, now," said Dumbledore. "Have you ever benefited from this switch?"

"How do you think I know Trixie? You don't think the Dark Lord goes tramp trawling on the streets of London, do you?"

"I always thought of it as sharing the experiences of the common man, but since you put it that way…"

"You really have to polish up your act, Stumblemore. I know that after too many moons out on the Scottish moors even the sheep start looking good, but a man in your position has to show more class."

"I have never…" Dumbledore began indignantly, but then stopped as memories of the great blizzard of 1892 came to mind. It had, face it, been hard to find ways to keep warm.

"See!" crowed H-W-M-N-B-N. "See! Not so high and mighty now!" And he down-righted CCTV.

Behind them a panel in the wall slid open to reveal a mirror. Or at least it was glass. For an instant it was dark, then a flicker of light flashed across its surface, and a picture in chiaroscuro appeared. It was, as near as they could tell, a telephone box. And there was a black-haired woman in the box trying to dial a number. Around the box, watching her, were about four dozen sweaty looking people in gym suits. One of them was dressed in… tartan plaid.

"Oh, no," murmured H-W-M-N-B-N in horror. "That's our secret entrance. And that's Bella trying to get in."

"And that's McGonagall on the left," added Dumbledore as Hagrid sucked in a deep breath through pursed lips.

As one, the three turned to the stretcher where their only hope of salvation lay blissfully unaware of the doom descending on them.

"You and your stupid Stupefy spells," said Dumbledore. "Now we really are in for it."

"Too bad," said Hagrid glumly, "there isn't a counter spell."

Dumbledore looked at H-W-M-N-B-N – H-W-M-N-B-N looked at Dumbledore. "Don't gawk at me like that! I was terrible at Charms. You're the Professor!"

"Ahem," said Dumbledore, somewhat self-consciously, "Rennervate!"

Snape sneezed.

Dumbledore looked at his wand. "Must be the dust," he said.

H-W-M-N-B-N brightened. "I know this really good dry cleaner," he began, then thought better of it.

Dumbledore snorted. "You'd have to be truly dumb to dry clean a wand. That would backfire on you quicker than jalapeño custard."

H-W-M-N-B-N looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked at H-W-M-N-B-N. "I do not want to hear about it," said Dumbledore.

"Let me try," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "After all, I was the one who managed the Stupefy spell in the first place."

"Only because no one else was a big enough idiot," muttered Dumbledore.

Pointing his wand at Snape, H-W-M-N-B-N intoned, "Rennervate!"

Snape's eyes snapped open with astonishing suddenness then, with equal rapidity, he leaned over the side of the stretcher and vomited up his immortal soul. It took some minutes for the spasms to pass, after which he glared at H-W-M-N-B-N. "What the hell was that?" he said accusingly. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you sent that thing to…"

"Now, now. We have been through that, Severus, and Tom here has acknowledged a slight error in judgment."

"I have not! And anyway, it was sixteen years ago! And… you called me Tom."

"I hope I did not offend, but you will always be Tom to me."

"I didn't think anyone remembered."

"Not remember! You were one of the brightest and the best. Except for that little quirk, of course."

"For this you made me spill my insides all over the linoleum?" Snape hissed.

"Oh, sorry Severus. We almost forgot. Bella and Minerva are just outside. Trying to get in. We thought you should know."

Of all the instincts that help one focus on the moment, self-preservation is the best. Snape was up and off the stretcher in an instant. "We have to get back to your office, sir," he said to H-W-M-N-B-N. "The hearth is our one weak point. They can get in by floo powder."

Everybody looked at everybody, and then they ran, Hagrid first, for the inner office. All was serene, and the hearth unblemished. It had not yet occurred to either Bella or Minerva to use it.

"How do we close the infernal thing down?" gasped H-W-M-N-B-N.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you forgot to pay the bill," said Snape.

"Bill? We pay for this?" As if on cue, the fireplace dimmed and then went cold and dark.

"And I thought that only happened in fiction," said Snape in amazement. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Does that mean we're safe?"

"Yes, Lord. For the time being, at least."

Dumbledore took Snape by the elbow and steered him into a corner of the room. "You called him 'Lord,'" he whispered. "I thought you worked for me."

"But I call you 'Headmaster.'"

"Is not 'Lord' better?"

"'Headmaster' comes first alphabetically and has more letters."

"I see. That makes sense."

Snape shook his head. _Genetic. It has to be genetic. The shallow end of the gene pool._

All the measures they had employed were, regardless of their timeliness or creativity, purely stopgap moves. It was true that with the magical barriers in place, the lift stopped, and the fireplace turned off, Bella and Minerva could not get into Headquarters. It was also true that the four of them could not get out.

Dumbledore brought it up first.

"Um, Severus? I do not want to be picky or anything, but when were you planning to return to Hogwarts?"

"It's only a matter of time, Headmaster. As soon as they realize we have them cornered…"

"Not wishing to be rude, but is it not they who have us cornered?"

There is a certain level of irritated impatience that practically screams _I don't have an answer to your question!_ Snape was currently at that level.

"Don't you see that they have to find a way back in here? As long as we hold their fortress, they're powerless. They now have to expend all their energy and talent to find a way around our defenses."

"Why? Why do they not just open another headquarters?"

"Because… Well just because!"

"I don't think Bella would do that," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "She is really very fond of this establishment. She's been knocking herself out on the Chamber of Horrors exhibit."

"There is something more, though, isn't there?" Snape pressed. "I mean, there was a reason you chose this location over all the other possible ones in Britain?"

"Well, it was nice being near the river, you know. And then we got that terrific deal on the rent, provided we signed the lease… Funny that they didn't fancy our lawyers going over it first, though. Then we're only five miles from the nearest underground station – practically walking distance, that. And the building itself is a treasure – early post-modern bauhaus, or some such thing, which actually increases the value of the property – though really since we don't own the property…"

"No! No!" screamed Snape in exasperation. "There has to be some good reason why you picked this spot!"

"Why, yes, though I think I've pretty much covered the major points."

Snape was now banging his head against the wall.

"Of course," added H-W-M-N-B-N, "there are always the tunnels and secret passages, but everyone knows about them."

"Tunnels?" said Dumbledore, looking at Snape.

"Secret passages?" said Snape, looking at H-W-M-N-B-N. "I didn't know about any secret passages."

"That may be why they're secret," said Hagrid. "Who does know about them?"

"Don't look at me," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "I don't know about them, I just know of them."

"Then how can you be sure they're there?"

"Now Severus, you know the plans of every building are on file somewhere with the borough management. We had a wee peep at them when we signed the lease."

"How can they be secret when they're a matter of public record?"

"He may have a point, you know, Severus," Dumbledore interjected. "I would wager there are people who know the plans for the White House bunkers in the Blue Ridge Mountains who have never seen the blueprint for their own house."

"Isn't that Top Secret?"

"I rest my case."

"In fact," said H-W-M-N-B-N, "I was looking at them not long ago. Right about the time I was signing that contract for a new biography of me. Bella was asking about that. You do go into escrow to publish a book, don't you?"

"Tell me you didn't sign anything."

"Well of course I signed it, Severus. People have a right to know about me if they want to, and how are they going to find out if I don't assist them by making myself more public…"

"Has it gone through?"

"Come to think of it, Bella did say that was why Sneegy wasn't cooking anymore…"

"I do not know about you, Severus, but I am beginning to think it would be much more fun to let Bella and Minerva have the place and watch them sort the mess out."

"I'm starting to agree with you, Headmaster. I just have one big question right now. Where do the tunnels lead to?"

"Salisbury Plain."

Snape was flabbergasted. "We have to walk one hundred ten miles to get out of here?"

"Not exactly. After about three quarters of a mile you can catch the shuttle cars, and they take you right to…"

"Shuttle cars?"

"I wish you would not interrupt so. It is really very irritating. Bella remarked on it."

"You have noticed that, too?" said Dumbledore. "I think it is an indication of a character flaw. A certain lack of patience with the normal flow of things. After all, if he were to wait what? no more than five minutes, the question would generally have been answered…"

"What shuttle cars?"

"The shuttle cars that go to Salisbury Plain. Every two hours, as I recall."

"How do we get to these shuttle cars?"

"Let me see now. If I read the plans right… it was through the kitchens."

They made their way to the kitchens, where the house-elves tried to deny them passage under the assumption that H-W-M-N-B-N no longer owned the premises.

"Who's Sneegy?" Snape demanded.

A rather disreputable house-elf approached them and bowed.

"The sale has been tied up over a legal technicality. This is still your master. How do we get to the shuttle cars?"

"What does Slick Snapey mean by legal technicality?"

"He never owned the property, and therefore had no right to sell it."

"Sneegy hopes good master Snape will forgive his thoughtless use of an affectionate nickname. He will go stick his head in the microwave oven now."

"You're not getting out of this so easily. Take us to the shuttles."

Sneegy disapparated. After about fifteen minutes, he returned. "Why is masters not following Sneegy to the shuttles?"

"Ahem," started H-W-M-N-B-N. "It seems you can… uh… do things under certain magical circumstances that we… uh."

"Oh for crying out loud!" snapped Snape. Turning to Sneegy he said. "House-elves can disapparate anywhere. Wizards are blocked by magical defenses."

Sneegy giggled. "Is not so great, great masters, is they? Let a little magic stop them. Not so great."

"Now, take us to the shuttles."

"Sneegy cannot."

"Why not?"

"Only knows pop in/pop out way. Never has to show great masters before."

Snape turned to H-W-M-N-B-N. "You said you were looking at the plans not long ago. Where are those plans now?"

"I had them in my office…" Snape started out the door, but H-W-M-N-B-N continued. "Then Bella found out about the book contract and took the plans away."

Halting in the doorway, Snape asked, "Did she take them to her office?"

"Excuse me," said Hagrid.

Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, the other three stopped talking.

"Well, go ahead," said Dumbledore.

"There's a sign over there that says Shuttle Service, and a door."

"Why can't we see it?" asked H-W-M-N-B-N peevishly.

Hagrid bent down and picked H-W-M-N-B-N up, holding him where his head was about eight feet above the ground.

"Oh," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "There it is! Right on the other side of those… whatever they are."

Snape was already going around the refrigerators and heading for the passageway.

The four of them ran down the passageway, Snape first, then Dumbledore, Hagrid, and H-W-M-N-B-N. Behind them came a sinister click as of a key turning in a lock, the rasp of a bolt being shot into place, and maniacal house-elf laughter, but they were too intent on reaching the shuttles to pay it any heed.

At last the quartet reached a cavernous underground station with a narrow gauge rail line. Taped to the wall was a laminated piece of paper that read 'Shuttle Schedule – updated August 1995 – subject to change without prior notice.'

"Aha! We're in luck," Snape called to the others. "The next shuttle is due in ten minutes."

"Unless we changed the schedule and didn't post it," said H-W-M-N-B-N.

Snape glared at him. "Did you change the schedule?" he asked.

"Not that I remember, but there is a lot that I don't remember nowadays. Like why I ever wanted to conquer a world that contained Bella Lestrange. Or you for that matter."

It was Hagrid who reached out and grabbed Snape in mid-attack. "You should worry about the time I decide to stop pulling you off ledges, you know," he said.

Snape rather self-consciously brushed off his clothes. "I wasn't really going to hurt him. Just stimulate his hippocampus a little."

"Don't you have to break his skull open to do that?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, yes. But would anyone notice?"

"Probably not."

H-W-M-N-B-N was on the verge of sticking his foot into it again when a shuddering wooden underground car clattered into view.

"What is that thing?" gasped Snape. "A relic from the Victorian age?"

"Sort of. We got a couple cut-rate from the Russians when we put in the line. It seems they had a political meltdown about six years ago, and they were finally in a position to replace some Stalin-era equipment that…"

"I'm riding the Moscow subway," sighed Snape.

As the doors slid shut, a taped female voice said, _"Ostorózhno. Dvéri zakryváyutsya. Sléduyushchaya stántsiya – Gostínii Dvor."_

"My mistake. Leningrad."

The shuttle rattled and clanked its way through the bare, unfinished tunnels beneath Middlesex and Buckinghamshire, until it dipped under the Thames halfway between Reading and Abingdon, thence under Berkshire and Wiltshire to Salisbury Plain.

Given the age and place of origin of the car, it wasn't surprising that it took half a day to make the trip, time which was spent by the four in sleeping, bickering, wishing aloud that they'd brought food and water, sleeping, bickering, playing charades, sleeping, and bickering.

"Title," said Snape, watching H-W-M-N-B-N's clues carefully. They'd already lost two games, and this one would make it a clean sweep, "Three words. Two. To. Too. Stop shaking your head at me like that. What else would two fingers mean? Okay, start again. Title. Three words. Two. You know, this would go faster if you didn't bang your head against the windows like that. I'm not at all certain about the tensile strength of Soviet glass. Title. Three words. Two – NO! SECOND WORD!"

H-W-M-N-B-N nodded so emphatically that Snape was seriously concerned he would need a chiropractor. "Good," he continued, "second word. Sounds like – nose. That's silly. Very few words sound like nose. Rose. Pose. Doze. Goes… I wish you wouldn't wave at me like that, Headmaster. It is distracting. Oh. Not rhyme. Sounds like… Really, my Lord, blowing kisses at Dumbledore is not helping me. Now what sounds like nose? Noze? Gnose? Knose? AHA! KNOWS! The second word is 'knows!"

Despite the humiliation of being voted Hogwarts' worst charades player in three centuries (one really could not surpass the notorious Baron Witterby-Hornscroft), Snape did eventually manage to figure out that word three was 'best.' Then the car came to a shuddering, jolting halt.

As the foursome disembarked from the shuttle car, H-W-M-N-B-N turned to his erstwhile charades partner. "You're fidgeting again. Dumbledore, he's fidgeting again. Make him stop."

Dumbledore and Hagrid paused on their way to the stairs. "I have been trying for fifteen years. It only makes him worse. Do you remember that time, Hagrid, when we had to restrain Flitwick from embedding his hands in concrete because he wouldn't stop biting his nails? You have no concept of the degree to which nail biting can inflame an angry mob until you have watched Severus…"

"I remember McGonagall wanting to change him to a black beetle," said Hagrid.

"That is interesting, Hagrid. Why did she want to do that?"

"'Cause then he couldn't talk, and he'd be small enough to step on. I think it was that time he took up knitting."

"And kept dropping stitches. I remember now. You know, Tom, Severus has a much larger and more colorful vocabulary than you would suspect." Dumbledore went back to the seething Snape. "Why are you fidgeting now, Severus?"

"I'm not fidgeting, and I don't bite my nails."

"Well not anymore, certainly. Not after…" Dumbledore stopped. "Well, go ahead. Tell us."

"What's to stop Bella and Minerva from coming to Salisbury Plain, getting on a shuttle car, and going right into headquarters. We have to block this end."

H-W-M-N-B-N hummed a little. "I don't think that's a problem," he said. "It's already taken care of. Not everyone could use the shuttle, you see. Not Bella and Minerva, that's for sure."

"What kind of magic could you use that would keep them out?"

"No magic. They just… wouldn't."

Snape puzzled over this as he followed the others up a ramp to a small door. H-W-M-N-B-N listened there for a moment, then opened it with a simple Alohomora. As they passed through, Dumbledore breathed, "Of course, brilliant," while Hagrid and Snape admired the sparkling tiles, the units set into the walls, the highly polished metal fixtures, and the spaciousness of the more private sections. Then they exited through a swinging door into a dim hall illuminated only by small security lights.

Snape looked back at the room they had just left. The sign on the door said, 'Men.'

The hall they were in was filled with merchandise counters, display cases, and cash register stands. They threaded their way carefully through the maze until H-W-M-N-B-N stopped dead in front of a book stand. Snape halted in time, but Hagrid didn't, sending Snape to the floor like the entire defensive line of the Chicago Bears stomping a 49er quarterback.

"Will you watch where you're going?" Snape hissed, when he could get his breath back. "Just once I'd like to come out of something in one piece."

"Look!" exclaimed H-W-M-N-B-N excitedly. "This is a book about crop circles. I always wanted to know what causes them. Do you think it's Martians?"

"Put that down. You don't have the money to pay for it."

"That is all right, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Tom here can have anything he wants. I am a member of the All-Britain Museum and Cultural Exchange Club, and books are one of the freebies."

"There's no such thing."

"Yes there is. I have a card somewhere."

"This is a press pass to the Manchester United locker rooms. I didn't know you were interested in football."

"No, but generally no one ever actually reads it. I have picked up quite a bit of material – for educational purposes, of course – with this little piece of pasteboard. Go ahead, Tom, take the book. I am sure you will find it interesting."

Snape shook his head, then followed Dumbledore to one of the doors, exiting the building on the Stonehenge side of the road.

H-W-M-N-B-N shivered in the perfectly normal night breeze of a typical Salisbury Plain midnight. "What is this, the North Pole? I didn't think anything in England could be this cold."

"My third mother-in-law came close."

Snape looked at Dumbledore wearily. Very little could shock him anymore. "I didn't know you'd been married."

"I did not say I had been."

"But you just said…"

"No, I did not."

Snape appealed to Hagrid. "He said mother-in-law, didn't he? You heard him."

"Can't say as I was paying attention."

"Did you say mother-in-law?"

Before Dumbledore could answer, H-W-M-N-B-N chimed in. "He did. I heard him. He said his third mother-in-law."

"There! Now doesn't that imply that you were married? Three times?"

"And I have a whole stable of solicitors who will explain to you in minute detail why it does not, though I would prefer you did not ask them as they tend to charge £300 per hour or part thereof. Suffice it to say that a mother-in-law does not a marriage make."

"Three on 'em," chuckled Hagrid. "And some people think the Universe don't have a sense of humor."

"Now, now," admonished Snape, "it's not nice to mock the afflicted. Imagine his quandary on Mothering Sunday. Where do you go?"

"There is this rather nice pub in Chelsea…"

"Why do I not want to hear about this?" Snape asked a nearby Sarcen stone. "It isn't that I'm complaining, but the last couple of days, well day and a half to be exact, have been just a touch trying. There I was, minding my own business in the employee cafeteria, not bothering anybody, enjoying a cup of tea, reading a good book…"

"What book?" asked H-W-M-N-B-N. "I like books, especially the ones with pictures and conversations. Or diagrams of crop circles. I bet I'd like that one."

"No, you wouldn't. And I wasn't talking to you."

"No, you were talking to a fifty-ton piece of rock, which I'd be quite happy to ignore if you could recommend a nice list of light reading…"

"Severus never reads anything light. The last time he dropped a book we had to transport in stone masons to repave the dungeon floor."

"How do you know I don't read light material? I'll have you know I'm very fond of murder mysteries. I'm even thinking of writing one – but the corpse won't stay dead."

"It could have, but you had to indulge in pyrotechnics."

"Did we just change the subject?" asked H-W-M-N-B-N. "Because I thought we were talking about books. And I'm still cold. Isn't there somewhere else we could go?"

"You might try crawling under a rock and hibernating," muttered Snape at an exquisitely controlled volume.

"What was that, Snape?"

"Nothing, my Lord. I was just wondering if the rocks were vibrating. Though he does have a point, Headmaster. Where were you considering going?"

"I thought we might return to Hogwarts. That is if Minerva has not changed all the perimeter codes."

(to be continued)


	3. Chapter 3

**The Bella and Voldy Show – Part III**

You cannot succeed if you don't try, and fifteen minutes later, after arguing about who took precedence and arranging their arrival pattern so as not to apparate into each other (Snape choosing a spot twenty yards away just to be sure), the quartet found themselves standing in front of the gates into Hogwarts.

"Well?" Snape asked after what he considered a decent interval had passed.

"I cannot just say the words in front of Tom here, now can I? Is he not one of the reasons why we have these defenses?"

"Why can't you, assuming they still work? Aren't you just going to change them immediately anyway, to keep Minerva out? What does it matter if he knows outdated spells?"

"Ah, Severus, I am beginning to remember why I have tolerated your annoying habits for so many years."

"What annoying habits?"

"What have we been talking about for the last day and a half, or shall I add deteriorating short-term memory to the list?"

"Will you open the gate!"

"All right," snapped Dumbledore, and concentrated for a moment. "Canteloupe!" he shouted. Nothing happened. "Maybe that was not the right one." He thought for a while, then tried again. "Casaba! Honeydew! …I was certain it was something like that… maybe one of the less well known… Sharlyn! Charentals! …no, how about… Galia! Crenshaw!"

"I don't believe this," Snape said, half to Hagrid and half to the night sky. Stepping in front of Dumbledore, and with an authoritative note to his voice, he intoned, "Melon!" and the gate opened.

"I was just getting to that," Dumbledore muttered peevishly.

The four of them walked cautiously through the gate, but it seemed that McGonagall hadn't thought to do anything to keep them out. Snape turned to Dumbledore.

"Change the spells now. Disconnect the floo system and change the spells now. If you're quick enough, Minerva won't know what hit her."

"Hit Minerva? Why would I do that? It seems unnecessarily violent…"

"CHANGE THE FREAKING SPELLS!"

"Well, all right. There is no need…"

"Professor," said H-W-M-N-B-N.

"Not now, Tom, I am talking to Severus."

"No, but Professor…"

"Tom, it really is rude of you…"

"What did you want, Lord?" said Snape, suddenly wary.

"Well it's… it's this gate. It won't close."

"That is ridiculous, Tom. Of course…" Dumbledore began.

"I tell you it won't…"

"Hit the dirt!" Snape screamed, and dove for the ground just as the whole gate assembly exploded. As he fell, Snape grabbed H-W-M-N-B-N and pushed him down, away from the impact of the explosion. Hagrid shielded Dumbledore in similar fashion.

Slowly the dust cleared away, but there was now a gaping hole in the perimeter which no spell could close.

"Now I wonder," said Dumbledore, looking from the gap to the others, especially Snape. "Why did you choose to protect him instead of me?"

H-W-M-N-B-N was grinning from ear to ear.

"I refuse to answer that," snapped Snape.

"Are you doing that American Constitution thing again, because if you are I am going to have to report you to the House UnBritish Activities Committee…"

"There's no such thing!"

"There should be."

"For your information, I grabbed the D… – him – because I knew Hagrid was going to protect you. I saw no reason to be redundant."

"But Severus, I have never said you were redundant. I have always found your work here to be top-notch, barring one or two small quirks, and there is no one who could replace you…"

"Horace Slughorn?"

"Well that was a special circumstance, and I did find you another position."

"Right. One that you considered adequately filled by Gilderoy Lockhart. I'm flattered."

"Now you know that Gilderoy was something of a stop-gap. It is not as if the truly qualified are begging to teach Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Headmaster. I'm feeling better and better with every passing moment."

"You are entirely welcome, Severus. We should have these little chats more often. Now I suggest we scuttle up to the castle post haste."

"Why's that, Professor," asked Hagrid.

"Because now that the defenses are breached, there is no other place on the grounds that can be protected from outside attack. How soon do you think before Minerva notices her booby trap has been sprung?"

Snape looked around. Death Eaters were apparating into Hogsmeade. "I'd say about five minutes ago," he replied.

They 'scuttled' up the hill at about the same speed that a major league fast ball 'scuttles' across home plate, deflecting curses all the way. (Truth be told, Snape was deflecting the curses all the way since, as the youngest, he was assigned rear guard duty, but officially it was a team effort.)

H-W-M-N-B-N was through the great oak doors first, outdistancing Dumbledore by about twenty yards, mainly because he'd been the undisputed master of those Death Eaters for the past two years and had no illusions concerning what would happen to him if he fell into their hands.

Hagrid should have been second, but Dumbledore kept shooting tripping spells at him, preferring Hagrid's bulk between himself and the attacking Death Eaters. Hagrid stumbled and slid up the hill, cursing the stones and gravel without realizing the true source of his problem.

Snape, bringing up the rear, was almost too late. H-W-M-N-B-N was already closing the doors when Dumbledore squeaked through, and of course Hagrid simply burst his way in, but Snape was confronted with solid oak. "Let me in!" he yelled as he shot a combination blinding/tonsillectomy spell at the nearest Death Eater, who immediately dropped his wand and began groping for ice cream.

"We can't," called H-W-M-N-B-N through the closed doors. "Once the performance starts, we can't open the doors until the first intermission."

"Listen to me," Snape screamed as he blasted the next Death Eater with a curse that made him pirouette in midair and sing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' with a Brooklyn accent. "Listen! There are twenty-seven ways they can get into the castle right now. Can you name five of them?"

There was a pause as H-W-M-N-B-N thought. "The windows in the Great Hall might be one…" he began, but Dumbledore pushed him aside and swung the immense doors open about eighteen inches.

"Get inside, Severus," he commanded. "We need to lock down."

They sent H-W-M-N-B-N into the Great Hall to fortify the windows and the chimneys, since it was the area where the fewest mistakes could be made. Dumbledore worked on the ground floor windows in the classroom wing, the staffroom, and Filch's office. Snape knew the labyrinth of the dungeons best, so he worked there sealing off the ceiling slits that were the underground area's only windows, while Hagrid did the same for the kitchens. They met again in the entrance hall.

"They're still trying to break down the front door," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "Nobody's even tried the windows yet." He sounded disappointed.

"Of course not," Snape pointed out. "They're following standard instructions. Establish your prime objective, throw everything at it, and don't move to the next one until the first one has been achieved. We make that door strong enough, and we can slip out a side entrance, picnic on the front lawn, and they'll never notice."

"Do tell?" said Dumbledore. "And who, if I may ask, came up with these standard instructions?"

"He did," replied Snape, with a dismissive wave of his hand at H-W-M-N-B-N. "He was always very vain about his tactical abilities."

"And why did you never advise me about these chinks in the enemy's armor?"

"Frankly, because you're such a cheapskate that if you knew how weak the offense was, you'd stop paying me the per diem money, and I have to pay rent just like everybody else."

"Does he talk to you like this?" Dumbledore asked H-W-M-N-B-N.

"All the time."

"And what do you mean rent? You live here."

"I keep a flat in London. I need a place to get away from all the… the…"

"Well, spit it out, man. Honestly, Severus, it is not like you to be at a loss for words."

Snape wasn't paying attention to Dumbledore. "Hagrid," he asked, "did you seal off the windows in Hufflepuff house?"

"Can't get into Hufflepuff. You know that."

"Sir," said Snape. "The castle is full of…"

A tiny first-year Hufflepuff in a pink nightgown stood at the entrance to the kitchen corridor. She was carrying a teddy bear. "You woke me up," she said accusingly, staring at each of them in turn.

"…students."

"You! Little girl!" Snape called.

"Now, now, Severus, the child has a name. You ought to use it you know."

Snape glared at Dumbledore. "Okay, smart guy. What's her name?"

"I do not know. I have been shut in a tomb since the end of last school year."

"And my employment terminated a little bit before that. Hagrid! What's her name?"

"Why that's Lobelia Turnipseed, that is. Mornin' there, Lobelia."

"Where do they come up with these names?" muttered Snape.

"Good morning, Mr. Hagrid," said Lobelia as she curtseyed. Then she turned to Snape. "I wondered about my name, too, sir, but then my parents explained that my grandmother wanted to name me Severa. Luckily the old bat kicked the bucket just before my naming day, so I got a flower name instead, but it could have been worse. A lot worse."

Changing the subject, Snape said, "Do you think you could take Mr. Hagrid into Hufflepuff house so that he can close the windows? We have some bad people trying to get in and…"

Lobelia wasn't paying attention. She was staring at Dumbledore. "You know," she said, "the older students say we used to have this dingy old fart for a headmaster until the Dark Arts professor got pissed and shoved him off the tower. You look a lot like their description."

"Well… uh…" said Dumbledore, "…yes. And no. Hagrid, would you go into Hufflepuff house and seal the windows? The rest of us need to close off the upper stories."

"Right you are, Professor," said Hagrid, moving toward the little girl. As the two moved off, Hagrid could be heard saying, "And what else might the older students be saying about the teaching staff, Lobelia dear?"

"What I don't understand," said H-W-M-N-B-N, "is why we even have to worry about the upper floors. None of them can fly, after all."

"How do you know?" Snape snapped. "Was it a question on the application form?"

"Well, I don't… I'm not sure."

"I'm sure. It wasn't. You never had a clue about the real capabilities of your people because you never asked. For all you know, the Flying Santinis are out there even now, judging the distance to the Professor's office windows."

"Now Severus," Dumbledore said, "I happen to have some information myself, and I can assure you that no one among the Death Eaters ever got an Outstanding on a Charms OWL or NEWT, and Levitation was the determining spell."

"I got an Outstanding in Charms."

"No, I mean among the Death Eaters."

"I was a Death Eater," Snape said, jerking his head slightly in the direction of H-W-M-N-B-N and motioning down with his hand.

"I mean among the real Death Eaters," Dumbledore insisted.

"Wait a minute," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "How do you know who my Death Eaters are? And if Severus got an Outstanding when none of the Death Eaters got Outstanding…"

"He's just trying to confuse you with a logic problem, sir," Snape said. "It doesn't matter in the present situation because McGonagall's out there."

"McGonagall did not get an Outstanding in Charms either, so…"

"I'll bet she got one in Transfiguration, though, didn't she?"

"Naturally. But what…?"

"Look outside. What's she doing?"

The great oaken doors had a little peephole set into the lefthand one. Dumbledore checked. "She's just changed five of the Death Eaters into… Severus, I believe that is a very large trampoline!"

The three of them headed for the stairs at a dead run.

Even at top speed, it took forty-three minutes to seal off all the means of entrance to the castle. Then it took another sixty-seven to find all the places where students had opened them again. Snape was livid.

"Did you or did you not just watch me close that window and lock it? Why did you open it again?"

"I'm hot."

"If you took off the parka and the ski cap, you might be cooler."

"But that's my personality! My trademark! You can't make me shed my signature clothes!"

"You will close that window, and you will go to the Hall for breakfast, or you and your signature clothes will be comprising the cornerstone of the new public library in Duluth."

Not knowing where Duluth was, the student started to protest, but was pulled aside by another student who whispered to him at some length. Snape didn't have to overhear the conversation. The motion of the second student's hand rising up and then plunging downward was enough. The first student stared at him in wide-eyed terror, closed the window, and ran down the stairs.

_If I'd known it would be like this, I'd have offed Dumbledore long ago_, Snape thought, rounding up other students and hurrying them downstairs.

The Great Hall was absolutely soundless. White-faced students and professors sat rigid in their places staring straight ahead. Outside, as if from a great distance, the gentle thump of Death Eaters falling off the trampoline could be heard, it was so still in the Hall. Snape walked in wondering if he could patent whatever it was that produced this effect. _Think what a boon it would be for teachers, speakers at political conventions, nightclub performers, parents at four o'clock on any afternoon of the year… I could make a fortune._

Dumbledore was on his feet on the dais, trying to get people to relax by saying a few words.

"Biliousness."

"Scrofula."

"Peritonitis."

"Oh, there you are, Severus. Come and assist me. I do not understand what can have gotten into them. Tom and I just came into the Hall and everyone went catatonic. I just cannot explain the reaction."

"Have you tried a mirror recently?"

Dumbledore glance over at H-W-M-N-B-N. "I see what you mean. He is a little odd looking. Come help me with this, now."

"Are you kidding? I'm the Mad Murderer. You're the white-bearded ghost, he's the red-eyed, snake-faced terror of the universe, and I'm the murderer. No one's going to follow us. What we need is the most normal, inoffensive person in the world to talk to them."

As if on cue, Hagrid walked into the Hall.

Unfortunately, Hagrid was still accompanied by Lobelia Turnipseed. She followed Hagrid meekly, clinging to one huge finger with her tiny hand, the thumb of the other in her mouth and the teddy bear under her arm. She'd changed into diminutive robes. Stopping in front of the dais, she confronted Dumbledore.

"I figured it out," Lobelia informed the headmaster. "You were born before they invented razors."

Snape suppressed a chuckle, but not a smile. "That makes you about three thousand years old, doesn't it?" he said.

"And you," continued Lobelia, "must be the poster boy for the Dracula look-alike contest, except they couldn't hold it because you'd already won."

H-W-M-N-B-N began fizzing now, but his mirth was premature. "I've seen your face before," the little girl said, " in a documentary about a train wreck."

Dumbledore was ecstatic. "Out of the mouths of babes!" he cried in glee.

"And if you," said Lobelia demurely, "ever call me a babe again, my parents will have you up on criminal charges for contributing to the delinquency of a minor."

"And you," said Snape, smiling as sweetly as was possible for a person with his face, "will go down in history along with the teenagers of 17th century Salem as one of the most notorious of those who ever cried 'wolf.'"

"You mean I get to be famous?" Lobelia asked.

"Do you want to be famous?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Then I shall see that your name is buried in the most obscure index of humankind, accessible only to lawyers, bail bondsmen, and real estate agents."

"Oh," Lobelia said, and sat down with the rest of the Hufflepuff students.

"Don't you think that was a little harsh," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "After all, she is only eleven."

"Poppycock!" Snape said. "There isn't a childish bone in her body. That midget was born forty."

"Hagrid," Dumbledore called to the gamekeeper and C. of M. C. teacher, who was trying to comfort Lobelia, a task made harder by the fact that Lobelia adamantly did not want to be comforted. "Hagrid, may I speak to you for a moment?"

"Be right there, Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid called back. He was nursing a sudden bruised spot on his ankle the exact size and shape of the toe of a small girl's shoe. With some difficulty he hobbled to the staff table. "Something I can do for you, sir?"

"Yes. Talk to these teachers and students and tell them we are not going to hurt them."

Hagrid looked skeptical. "Are you going to hurt them?" he asked.

"Of course not. What do you take me for?"

"Just wanted to be sure, sir, not being partial to fibbing myself."

Hagrid turned to face the students in the hall, apparently noticing the unnatural stillness for the first time. Somewhat self-consciously he straightened his waistcoat and coat and attempted to comb his hair by running his fingers through it, succeeding only in retrieving several feet of fishing line, some mouse droppings, and a screwdriver that had gone missing the previous Christmas.

"Ahem!" Hagrid said emphatically, sending himself into a coughing fit. Recovering, he continued, "I'd like everyone here to join me in welcoming Professor Dumbledore back from his holidays…" No one echoed the sound of Hagrid's hands clapping. He stopped, embarrassed. "Well I'da thought ye'd all be happy to see the Headmaster back in his old place, but…" He leaned over to Snape and whispered, "They ain't reacting at all like they should."

Snape shrugged. "Some audiences are harder than others."

"Guess you're right." Hagrid turned back to the students. "I got t' be honest with ye all. What's really happening here is we're filming the first program of a new wizard TV challenge game called 'Don't Tell a Lie.' We got these three chaps up here all claiming t' be the same person, but only one of 'em really is. Ye're the contestants, and the house that guesses right gets a hundred galleons. Now this here first show is a doozy 'cause all o' these gents claims to be Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster o' Hogwarts, but only one on 'em can be the right one. So gents, will ye stand and tell the contestants who ye are."

Snape rose first and bowed to the school. "My name," he said gravely, "is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm Headmaster of Hogwarts." Then he sat down.

Then it was Dumbledore's turn. He stood and smiled his most beatific smile. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am Headmaster of Hogwarts."

H-W-M-N-B-N was more of a problem. He stood in his turn and started, "My name is Lor…"

"No! No!" hissed Dumbledore. "Your name is Albus Dumbledore and…"

"No it isn't," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "Your name is Albus Dumbledore."

"It's a game," said Snape through clenched teeth. "We're playing a game to see if the students can guess who the real Dumbledore is."

"Well that's easy," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "I mean, only one of us has a long white beard, right?"

"You know, Tom," Dumbledore said, "the students in your day were a lot quicker on the uptake than they are now. It may take them a while to get to that."

"You mean this really is a mental challenge?"

Snape hid his mouth behind his hand in a surreptitious cough. "About as challenging as anything you've done in years, sir."

"Well in that case…" H-W-M-N-B-N rose and spoke. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Hufflepuff got to ask the first question. "Contestant number one," said Macmillan, the prefect chosen as spokesperson, "could you tell us how you defeated the evil wizard Grindelwald?"

"Of course," Snape said smoothly. "I simply used my superior skill and knowledge to take him unawares and defeat him."

"It really was not quite that easy," Dumbledore interjected. "He was, after all, the most dangerous evil lord in…"

"They weren't asking you, sir. They were asking me."

"Are you telling me that I am not the most evil, dangerous…" H-W-M-N-B-N began.

"Nobody asked either of you anything!" Snape shouted. "They asked me! Wait your freaking turn!"

The other two were silent. The next question came from Slytherin. "Contestant number three, what are the twelve uses of dragon's blood?"

"Wait!" cried H-W-M-N-B-N. "I know that! It was for my Charms OWL. Or was it my Potions OWL? Well, one of my OWLs. First, it keeps the dragon alive. Then, it carries oxygen and nutrients to the dragon's cells. Then it makes the dragon die if he loses too much of it. That's four, right?"

"Three, sir," Snape sighed, "but I don't think…"

"And an excellent thing that you do not," said Dumbledore, "for when you do it only confuses the rest of us. Go on, Albus. I am dying to learn what the other nine things are."

"Let me see… It's to give transfusions to other dragons, and to look red and scary in illustrations in books, and to make the dragon's face red when he's embarrassed, and… it gets cold when the dragon is scared, and up when the dragon is excited, and riled when the dragon is looking for a fight. How many is that?"

"Nine," said Dumbledore beatifically. "Do go on. I find this fascinating."

"Hot blood makes dragons really, really dangerous, and blood ties keep dragons from killing each other. Oh! and dragon's blood pudding makes a great side dish. I think that was it."

"I could not have said it better myself," Dumbledore murmured to Snape, and then settled back for the next question.

The third question came from Gryffindor. "Contestant number two, why do you insist on having a nine o'clock curfew for students who are legally adults?"

"That is easy," said Dumbledore. "It is because students who are legally adults can get into a hell of a lot more trouble than eleven-year-olds. At least let them do it openly and above board in their common rooms instead of furtively under the marble staircase in the entrance hall. Open and above board is always better than furtive, do you not agree, Sev… uh… Albus."

"Implicitly, Albus. I would even go along with chains and shackles. All in the spirit of good order, of course."

Ravenclaw's question was a bit trickier. "Contestant number one, did you ever violate Hogwarts's rules while you were a student?"

Snape smiled. "Well, let me tell you about that – and these are the facts… There isn't a rule in Hogwarts that has an ounce of sense behind it. The only reason you even have a curfew is to give the teachers a couple of hours of peace so that when they go to bed they can get to sleep. It's got nothing to do with you at all. I used to break curfew all the time…" Behind Snape, Dumbledore was waving frantically. "When I was a student I'd go down to the kitchens for snacks," Snape continued, "because, Gad! I was hungry all the time. Now it isn't food, it's nicotine. I swore off cigars after that fire in the Restricted Section, but I still smoke a pipe. And I chew. And when you've got a wad in your cheek building up the saliva…"

"Severus," said Dumbledore.

"My name is Albus," said Snape.

"You need to stop traducing me in public."

"You're mistaken. I'm traducing myself."

"I have a long memory, and there is a point beyond which I cease seeing the humor."

"Memory," said Snape, quoting the Marquis de Lafayette, "is the wit of fools."

Macmillan rose again with the next Hufflepuff question. "Contestant number three, what was the most famous thing you ever did?"

"I think it was the Brockdale Bridge. That was in all the newspapers, and even on television."

"You built the Brockdale Bridge?"

"Not exactly."

"Contestant number two," this from Slytherin, "what's your salary?"

Snape looked down the table, leaning his head on his left hand, an expression of what might pass for glee on his face. "Oh, yes, Albus. Do tell us what your salary is."

"I don't know," Dumbledore said calmly.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I am not the real Dumbledore, he is," and Dumbledore nodded to H-W-M-N-B-N. "So you see, I do not know the answer to the question."

It was Gryffindor's turn again, but there was some kind of disturbance at the Gryffindor table. Then Hermione Granger stood up, pushing the previous questioner back into his seat. "We want to know," she said angrily, "why you're playing this stupid game."

Hagrid intervened. "Hermione, lass, is that for contestant one, two, or three?"

Hermione was taken aback for a moment, then recovered and stared straight at Dumbledore. "It's for Contestant number one," she said.

Snape coughed modestly. "Granger, this may be a stupid game, but you still have to pay attention. I'm Contestant number one."

"Oh," said Hermione, and sat down.

"And the reason we're playing this stupid game is so that one of the houses can win a hundred galleons, and then we can go on television and be famous."

In the end, it was close. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor voted for Contestant number three, and for the same reason. Both houses admired the way he was able to rattle off twelve uses for dragon's blood without any time for preparation. The primary dissenting voice was Granger's but no one in Gryffindor ever listened to her anyway.

Hufflepuff voted for Contestant number one. They admired the way he'd said he used his superior skill to outwit Grindelwald.

Only Ravenclaw voted for Contestant number two, and this was more for what he did not say than for what he did. They reasoned that a false Dumbledore would have given a false salary figure. Only a real Dumbledore would hedge and refuse to answer.

"And now," said Hagrid with a dramatic flourish, "will the real Albus Dumbledore please stand up!"

Snape pushed his chair back and laid his hands on its arms. H-W-M-N-B-N leaned forward and then back again. Dumbledore paused and then rose to his feet, to the wild cheering of Ravenclaw house.

"And now that we have established that point," said Dumbledore with a touch of his old humor, "I regret to have to inform you that there is a squad of Death Eaters who are trying to break into the castle. Prefects, please lead your houses back to the dormitories. Teachers come with me."

All scrambled to do as ordered with one exception, and that exception was Granger. To be fair, she was backed up by two Weasleys, a Lovegood, and a Longbottom, but these were incidental. The motive force was Granger, and with her backup behind her, she elbowed her way to the high table and to Snape.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I had contemplated the possibility of eating breakfast," Snape replied quietly.

"More like coming back to the scene of the crime, I think," rejoined Granger.

"What crime?" Snape asked, nodding in Dumbledore's direction.

"Murder!" and behind her the other four nodded.

"Of whom?"

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"I don't want to shake your faith in British jurisprudence, Miss Granger, but isn't it a bit hard to make a murder charge stick while the reputed victim is eating a strawberry Danish?"

Granger was stubborn. "He's a fake, a phony, a charlatan just pretending to be Headmaster."

"I perfectly agree with you, but he's been that for years. Why make an issue of it now?"

"I'm going to see you punished for what you did."

"Punishing the innocent. That sounds about right. By the way, where is Potter? That was always one of his favorite pastimes. He'd enjoy it."

Granger glared at Snape and stomped out of the Hall, her retinue behind her.

She was back inside two minutes. Snape, having taught her for six years, was waiting. "Why," Granger demanded, "are you and Father Christmas running around with Lord Voldemort?"

Snape sprang three feet in the air, clutching his left arm and managing to stifle a shriek that should have shaken the rafters and turn it into a yelp that merely rattled his teacup. "You sadistic little minx!" he hissed. "You're supposed to say things like 'You-know-who.' Be a bit more courteous around…"

"Death Eaters?" said Granger, and was about to say more except H-W-M-N-B-N came sidling over at that same moment.

"I say," he said to Snape, "my fingers just started tingling. Does that mean someone spoke my name?"

"No, Lord," Snape replied. "Just that you drank too much coffee and the caffeine is catching up with you."

"I don't remember drinking any coffee."

"That's because you were concentrating so much on answering the questions right that you didn't notice anything else."

"Oh," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "That's all right then," and he walked away from them.

Granger watched him go. "Has he always been like that?" she asked.

"I don't know," Snape replied. "He's older than I am."

"Is there anyone here who's older than he is?"

"Dumbledore, of course, Binns, Flitwick, Hagrid's just two years younger… oh, and McGonagall."

"McGonagall! Where's Professor McGonagall?"

"Outside trying to get in."

Granger moved quickly. "I have to help her."

Snape moved quicker, grabbing the girl's arm. "I wouldn't," he said. "You see McGonagall's out there commanding a squadron of Death Eaters together with Bellatrix Lestrange, and they're trying to break the door down so they can kill Dumbledore and the Dark Lord."

"Kill them? Are you sure? That doesn't sound like McGonagall."

"It sounds like Bella, though, doesn't it. And to be honest, McGonagall hasn't been acting herself lately, but that seems to be affecting a lot of people." Snape looked over at the great hearth of the Hall where Dumbledore and H-W-M-N-B-N were chatting with the students and giving out autographs. "Speaking of which, where is Potter, anyway?"

"You already asked that question."

"And you didn't answer it. Not even a spiffy, in-your-face one-liner meant as a put-down."

"I thought that was your department."

Snape shrugged. "So I get to keep pestering you with the same question all week."

"He's looking for you," Granger said, "both of you."

"Me and Dumbledore?"

"You and Voldemort." Snape was out of his chair and twenty feet away like a shot. Granger grinned. "I wish we'd known about this earlier," she said. "First year would have been a lot more fun."

"For the two hours before you were expelled, you mean," replied Snape.

H-W-M-N-B-N came over again. "I must have had a lot of coffee," he whispered, "because that caffeine keeps doing it."

"Yes, Lord, you did," said Snape, who turned to Granger as H-W-M-N-B-N walked away. "Now, Miss Smarty-Pants, do you want to keep bringing him over to this side of the room?"

"I guess not," said Granger, smiling sweetly. "I'll stick to You-Know-Who for the time being."

"I know." Granger continued after a moment's further thought, "Let's get Harry."

"I'd love to," Snape replied, "but somehow I doubt you and I are thinking of the same action."

"No, I mean let's bring him here to help."

"Whom?"

"Who. The word is who. Bring who to help."

"I know who – Potter. I mean whom. Help whom."

"Help us, of course."

"And exactly which 'us' would that be? Lizzy Borden and her evil twin, or Abbot and Costello? Or maybe just you and the Four Horsemen?"

"He might just help you, you know!"

"After he kills me, of course. Forgive me if I'm not overwhelmed with enthusiasm."

"But Harry has no reason to kill you."

"When has that ever stopped him from doing anything before?"

Granger paused, then went on to an easier topic. "He'll see that Professor Dumbledore is still alive, then he'll realize he doesn't have to kill you."

"Doesn't have to? Doesn't have to!" Snape was now sure he needed to carry a sphygmomanometer with him at all times. That and a stethoscope. "Potter does realize that taking the law into one's own hands is against the law, right? He doesn't have to kill anyone that isn't trying at that very moment to kill him."

"But now he'll see that Professor Dumbledore…"

"Right. The Dark Lord's good buddy. Look, if it took the BWOHA an hour, fifteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds to get it through her head that I didn't kill him, a study of past incidents will prove that Potter needs at least three months to reach the same conclusion."

"Not if I explain it to him in words of one syllable. And what's a BWOHA?"

"Brightest Witch of Her Age. And if you make it from first through seventh year unchallenged, they give you a certificate with a hag holding a torch emblazoned on it."

"I still say we should get Harry."

"How do you plan to get Potter past the Wicked Witch of the West?" Snape asked.

Granger thought about this for a while. "Couldn't Professor Dumbledore make it possible for him to apparate in?"

"Certainly. And if it was just a matter of a friendly wager, I would bet neither lady outside would notice the sudden hole in our defenses. Having, however, been on the receiving end of both Bella's and Minerva's wrath, I'd rather not risk it. He comes in via Hogsmeade and a back door."

"What back door?"

"What back door do you lot always use when you're prowling around being sneaky? There are at least ten."

The wheels in Granger's head were visibly spinning. "I thought there were eight."

"Oops! Eight, of course. Far be it from me to increase the opportunity for delinquency. Let Potter choose. As long as he isn't seen from the main entrance."

Granger went off to confer with her minions and to presumably contact Potter – whether by floo or owl or semaphore or smoke signals, Snape didn't really care. What he was certain of was that as soon as Potter arrived, he, Snape, would hear about it.

He was right.

"Where is he?" Potter's voice echoed through the entrance hall an hour later. "Where is the slimy git? Bring him here! I've been waiting for this day for more than six years!"

The Great Hall was still crowded. The students assumed that the return of Dumbledore automatically meant a holiday, just as his funeral automatically meant a holiday, and just as the start of the next world war would automatically mean a holiday. No amount of persuasion, coercion, or threats would cheat them of their fate-decreed holidays. As Potter advanced down the marble staircase, his toadies in tow, they poured from the Hall – not in support of Potter, but in hopes of witnessing a great fight.

Snape heard Potter, looked around, found Hagrid, and took up his usual defensive position.

"Whoa there, lad!" Hagrid cried. "Come out from behind there. What d' ya think you're doing?"

"What do you think?" said Snape.

Hagrid scowled. "There's no call t' make fun o' the way I talk."

"I wasn't making fun. I was asking a question. What do you think I'm doing?"

"You was making fun!"

"I were asking a question!"

There was a pause while Hagrid tried to sort this out. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. While he pondered, Potter strode into the Hall. The bulk of Hagrid still blocked Snape from view.

"Snape, you misbegotten son of a Gobstones queen and a hook-nosed villain! Come out and face your comeuppance!"

"My goodness!" gushed H-W-M-N-B-N. "He certainly knows how to turn a phrase. Why didn't I notice this side of him before?"

"Maybe because you were concentrating too hard on how to kill him," replied Dumbledore as he stepped forward. "Harry," he said gently. "Harry, it is admittedly gratifying to see how quickly you jump to avenge wrongs done to me, but now you must concede that Severus…"

"Get out of my way, you old coot!" Potter snapped, then bellowed, "I'll find you, Snape, no matter where you hide!"

It was then that certain subtleties of the situation began to penetrate. "Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "What do you mean by 'more than six years?' I was tossed from the tower at the end of last May, and it is not yet mid October. That is hardly six years."

Potter looked directly at Dumbledore, though more at his nose than at his eyes. You'll have to wait your turn," he sneered. "You're at the bottom of a very long list."

"What is at the top?" Dumbledore asked, and there was a hint of irritation marring his normal beatific calm.

"Well for starters, he made my scar hurt at the banquet the first night I came to Hogwarts."

"No," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "That was me." He looked both embarrassed and pleased with himself.

"It was Snape," Potter insisted. "He was staring at me, and my scar hurt. I even asked Fred what his name was to be sure."

"No, Harry," Ron said. "You asked Percy."

Potter aimed his wand at Ron. "It was Fred!"

Ron held up his hands and backed off. "Have it your own way. Fred it was."

"Excuse me," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "I'm pretty sure it was me. Don't you remember? I was in the back of Quirrell's head, and he had that turban wrapped around it to hide me. That was one of the worst experiences of my life, let me tell you, because he kept that horrid thing full of garlic – some problem with a Hungarian countess and a jealous husband which is why I never deal with people who've been dead for more than a decade – anyway, Quirrell was talking to Snape so that I could look at you, and that's what made your scar hurt. Asserting my presence early on in the story, as it were. I was always rather proud of that moment."

"Don't try to fob me off with lies," Potter hissed. "It. Was. Snape. I even dreamed about him and his thin high laugh that night. And now I'm going to start getting my revenge."

"Wait a minute," retorted H-W-M-N-B-N. "I'm the one with the thin, high laugh." He giggled a bit to demonstrate. "Snape never laughs. You were dreaming about me. I'm so powerful I even made it into your dreams. I killed your parents long before you came to Hogwarts. I'm the one you want vengeance on."

"You only did it because Snape gave you the prophecy. So you wait your turn, too. After I deal with Snape, maybe I'll pay attention to you."

"But Snape only heard the prophecy because I sent him to Hogwarts."

"You only did that because he's good at potions."

"And I knew that because I made him a Death Eater! So you see, it is my fault, and you have to be after me first. Let Snape wait his turn."

It took Potter a while to work that out. Meanwhile, Snape was quietly trying to get Hagrid to leave the Great Hall.

Potter noticed the movement. "I knew it!" he yelled. "You're trying to confuse me with facts while all the time you're hiding him from me!" He pointed his wand at Hagrid's midriff. "Out of the way, Hagrid, or I'll have to stupefy you. He's going to pay for trying to kill me by knocking me off my broom!"

"Harry," said Hermione gently. "He didn't try to kill you, You-Know-Who did."

"And he's going to pay for almost killing Ginny!"

"Wait a minute!" Ginny interrupted. "I don't think anybody ever accused Professor Snape…"

"And he's going to pay for letting Wormtail get loose!"

"He was unconscious when that happened," Ron tried to point out.

"And he's going to pay for killing Cedric!"

"He wasn't even there," said Hagrid in a confused sort of way.

"And he's going to pay for killing Sirius!"

"That was Bella Lestrange," Neville said, his face reflecting his worry.

"And he's going to pay for killing Dumbledore!"

"I assure you I am very much alive."

"And he's going to pay for making me look like an idiot in Potions!"

That was the last straw. Snape stood up straight and stepped from behind Hagrid, his own wand drawn now, too. "I didn't do that, you did," he said quietly. "Face it, Potter, you are an idiot in Potions."

"I am not an idiot in Potions!" Harry shrieked. "I'll have you know Professor Slughorn thinks I'm great!"

"Which only proves that I was great as a student, and that you got your marks in his class the same way you and Weasley get your marks in all your classes – by copying – usually from Granger."

"I do not!"

"Potter, do you know the odds against collecting twenty truly original papers from a class and having three of them be identical, word for word?"

Potter sputtered, but was unable to respond.

"He got an 'Exceeds Expectations' on his Potions OWL," said Ron.

"Only because in his case the expectations were very low," Snape replied.

"Wait a minute," interjected Hermione, "you knew?"

"How else do you think you got higher marks for the same paper? Though if your handwriting were more legible, Potter might have fared better. Did you know that every time you wrote 'close' he copied it as 'dose?'"

"I did not," Potter said again, though less sure of himself this time.

"Tell me, Potter, can you substitute newt eyes for salamander eyes?"

"Of course. They're dosely related."

"I rest my case," said Snape as Hermione rolled her eyes.

Dumbledore had, meanwhile, been edging toward the distracted Potter and now deftly extracted the boy's wand from his hand. "I think we should adjourn to my office," Dumbledore said.

Hagrid stayed in the entrance hall to keep an eye on the progress (or lack of it) of Bella and Minerva while Dumbledore, Snape, H-W-M-N-B-N, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Lobelia went up to the headmaster's office. Lobelia wasn't really invited, but had a tendency to get lost in a crowd.

Harry and company took one look at the new magenta and chartreuse tartan color scheme of the office and turned to leave, assuming they'd come to the wrong place. Dumbledore gazed blissfully around, sighed "Ah, home, sweet home," and settled behind his desk. H-W-M-N-B-N also seemed quite comfortable with the décor, but Snape was fully prepared to follow Harry's lead at this point and escape with the students.

"Come back," Dumbledore called. "We have so much to talk about."

"I can't," Snape replied. "I have an allergy."

"You? You have never been allergic to anything before."

"It just sort of hit me. Sudden like."

"You do realize that if you leave now, you will be alone with Harry."

"That's all right, sir. You took his wand away."

Dumbledore reached into the pocket of his robes. "Harry, lad," he said. "Would you like your wand back? You will need it to help fight Bellatrix and Minerva." Snape moved away from the door.

"Thank you," Harry said as he took the wand. "I don't like the idea of fighting against Professor McGonagall, though."

"She decorated the office," Snape whispered in Harry's ear.

"She's going down."

"I see there is hope of your being reasonable after all," said Snape. "A good sign."

"I'm still going to kill you," was Harry's response.

"Maybe not."

"You think I won't?"

"I mean maybe not reasonable after all," said Snape.

A small hand tugged at the edge of Snape's frock coat, and he looked down at Lobelia. "Excuse me," the little girl asked. "Is he the frozen one?"

Snape looked down at the tiny child. "I think you mean the Chosen One. That's him, scar and all."

"Chosen one? No. That's not what they say in Hufflepuff. When he gets bored in class, he's the Dozin' One. When he's snooping around, he's the Nosin' One. When he walks in late, or stands up in the hall, but doesn't leave right away, he's the Posin' One. When he's theorizing, he's the Supposin' One…"

"I take your meaning. So Hufflepuff is not enchanted by Mr. Potter?"

"Nah. They think he's full of himself."

Snape had no intention of disagreeing. In the long-ago time he'd thought he might be in Hufflepuff because of his mother, and he had a high opinion of their perspicacity. This was an example to prove the rule. Snape was grateful to Hufflepuff.

"Now, Harry," said Dumbledore sagely, "we are faced with your virulently expressed desire to inflict serious bodily harm upon Professor Snape here."

"Am I a professor again, sir?" Snape asked. "And do I retain my seniority for pension purposes? Forgive me for being blunt, but if Potter does not kill me, the difference in monthly pension between a new assignment at my age and the retention of seniority that I believe is my due…"

"Let us deal with one thing at a time, Severus, please," said Dumbledore gently. "First the immediate question of Harry's wanting to take your life this instant, then the longer term question of your pension and benefits plan."

"Yes, sir," said Snape, unable to ignore the logic of Dumbledore's position.

"Psst," insisted Lobelia, once more tugging at Snape's coat. "It sounds like they're trying to screw you out of money. If you want to talk to a really good solicitor who charges reasonable fees, this is my father's number."

Snape looked at the little card with some respect. "I take it your mother is a barrister," he said.

"No, sir," Lobelia replied with a small smile. "She's a judge."

Potter interrupted the conversation by pointing his wand at Snape and beginning an incantation that might have started with 'AV-' if Snape had been willing to wait around and find out. Instead he again ducked behind Hagrid.

Hagrid was not to be manipulated so easily. "Now you just hold your horses, Mr. Used-to-Be-a-Professor. It's been a while since I had the chance to talk to Harry. Give us just a mo' before you start up."

"It's in that mo' that he'll kill me!"

"Harry ain't gonna kill no one. It ain't in him."

That's not what he says. Besides," Snape looked craftily up at Hagrid, "if you let Potter get to me, they'll put you in Azkaban as an accessory before the fact."

Hagrid thought for a moment, worry lines evident through the tangle of his matted hair. "I still don't think Harry'll hurt you, not really. Dumbledore says he's got a good heart. Dumbledore trusts him."

Snape sniffed. "Dumbledore trusts everybody."

"No he don't. He don't trust You-Know…"

Snape nudged Hagrid in the ribs. This involved standing on tiptoe to get his elbow at the right angle, and he nearly fell over. "Look left," he hissed, nodding to where H-W-M-N-B-N was now showing Dumbledore a card trick. A couple of sickles were on the desk, indicating a bet had been placed.

"I see what you mean," said Hagrid. "Maybe if we just move sideways past this astrolabe…"

It was not to be. At that moment, Potter suddenly realized that while Hagrid was a natural shield for anything smaller than a B-57, by jumping to one side, he could discover Snape's hiding place. "There you are, you villain," he shouted. "Say your prayers, because this is it."

"Don't I get a last meal?" Snape asked, standing straighter, so that Potter and he were of the same height. "The condemned man always gets a last meal."

Now Potter looked confused. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I thought it was only in penitentiaries where you were condemned by a court of law."

"And this is primal stump justice. But Potter, when it's all over, don't you want to be able to say to the world that you observed all the niceties?"

"If you mean I want to do it right, then yeah. What's involved with the last meal business?"

"It's very simple. I tell you what I want for my last meal, and you provide it for me."

"Sounds good," said Potter. "What d' you want?" Behind him they could hear Dumbledore's exclamations of disappointment as H-W-M-N-B-N turned over the cards.

"Let me think," Snape said. "It's the last one. It's kind of special. And I want it really cooked; none of this magic business Agreed?"

"I guess so," said Potter.

"Good. A before dinner drink, I think. A pousse cafe. Made by you. And if you goof it up, you have to start all over. For appetizers, fresh beluga cavier on toast points. Then I'd like rack of lamb – British spring lamb, not from New Zealand – with new potatoes and fresh asparagus. Finish with aged cheddar on sesame-rye crackers. With dinner, a Chateau Lafitte Rothshild, 2001, and an aged port with the cheese."

Harry started taking notes at the mention of the pousse cafe. When he'd finished, he stared at his writing for a moment. "It's 1997," he said. "How can I get you a 2001 wine?"

"I'm quite prepared to wait," Snape replied.

"Silly," Hermione broke in. "He's making fun of you. It's October and half what he wants isn't available until spring. You already know about the wine."

"Thank you very much, Miss Smarty-Pants," Snape hissed at her. "I had him tangled up for at least sixteen hours, but no – you had to butt in."

"But you were trying to fool him."

"I was trying to stay alive."

"Caviar," said Potter. "Isn't that fish eggs? When do these beluga thingies lay their eggs, anyway?"

"These beluga thingies are sturgeon from the Caspian Sea. The best eggs come in the spring, and you don't wait until the fish lays them. You eat the fish as well as the eggs."

Potter stared at Snape for a moment. "Spring again. You're trying to weasel out of this situation, aren't you?"

"Hey, watch it!" Ron exclaimed with ill-concealed irritation. "Name in vain and all!"

"That's all right, Ron," murmured Granger with a tone to her voice that made Snape's ears stand up straight. "It's just an expression. I'm sure he didn't mean anything."

"Wait a minute!" Snape interrupted. "What's with you two? You're not by some chance… dating, are you?"

"What ever makes you think that?" cooed Granger, with a coy little smirk.

"The way your voice got all syrupy when you said, 'That's all right.' If you want to maintain your reputation, you're going to have to learn to control that. You're not doing a Tonks, are you?"

"What's that?" Granger asked.

Snape sighed. "Nymphadora got all gooey about Lupin, and suddenly she's conjuring up a wolf patronus. Talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve. I'll bet you've got a patronus that's a mink, or a ferret, or an ermine."

"It's an otter, actually," Granger confessed.

"I knew it! Weasel family. You may as well tattoo it on your forehead because everyone will know the moment they see that…"

"Hey!" Potter yelled at them. "You do remember I'm supposed to be killing you, right?"

Snape waved an impatient hand at him. "Later, Potter. Later. This is much more important – Granger's good name is at stake."

"Wait a minute!" It was Ron's turn to latch on to what they were talking about. "How's 'Mione dating me going to hurt her good name?"

"Weasley, when was the last time I said something insulting to you in class?"

"Last April, I think."

"Good, we're overdue. What kind of a blithering idiot are you, anyway? How is it going to hurt her good name? Have you looked in a mirror recently?"

Behind Snape, Ginny Weasley was giggling like a lunatic.

"And you!" Snape pounced on Ginny, verbally of course. "What kind of support are you to your older brother when he's engaged in a conflict where he's obviously outmatched? Get in there and defend him! Blood is thicker than potions, after all. And you call yourself a sister!"

Ron's expression changed instantly from downcast and embarrassed to self-righteous and injured. He glared at Ginny and nodded in agreement with Snape. It was a definite victory. Snape figured he could now count on Dumbledore, H-W-M-N-B-N, Hagrid, Granger, Ron Weasley, and Lobelia against Potter and Ginny Weasley. Lovegood did not count as she tended to ricochet off the nearest object, and Longbottom had fallen asleep.

"Now," Snape inquired emphatically, "what are we going to do about Bella and Minerva?"

Everyone stopped and stared at him. After a pregnant pause, Dumbledore spoke. "What is happening with Minerva? And Bella, too, of course."

Snape rolled his eyes. "They're partners, in cahoots, soul-mates. They're trying to take over the wizarding world, and they're outside the castle right now attempting to break in by trampoline."

"Did you hear that?" Dumbledore asked H-W-M-N-B-N with more than a touch of pride. "He is so creative about concerns and potential disasters, have you noticed?"

"He does seem to come up with some highly original scenarios," replied H-W-M-N-B-N, clearly pleased with having thought of the word 'scenario.'

With a sigh of impatience, Snape faced the two of them over H-W-M-N-B-N's completed card trick. "Don't you remember riding all last night in a Soviet underground car from Paddleboat-on-Thames to Stonehenge to escape when the combined forces of Bella and Minerva were breaking into his," he nodded at H-W-M-N-B-N, "headquarters after calisthenics in the Albert Hall? Please tell me you remember."

"Not a bit of it," said Dumbledore, and H-W-M-N-B-N acquiesced with a shake of his head. In the silence that followed, they could still hear the thump of Death Eaters on the trampoline below. "Too much has happened since then, including a television show," said Dumbledore, "and I am experiencing overload."

"Would you be willing to take my word for it," Snape asked, barely controlling his exasperation.

"Well, I do not know, Severus. You do have this tendency to go off half-cocked. Come to think of it, I once had the experience of firing a musket that had only been half-cocked and poorly aimed, and can tell you that it teaches you the value of waiting until you are certain that all is ready with regard to your planned actions…"

"You do know," said Snape maliciously, "that he rigged the cards with all the knaves on the top and all the queens on the bottom so that the card you chose would be between a knave and a queen?"

(to be continued)


	4. Chapter 4

**The Bella and Voldy Show –Part IV**

Dumbledore stared at Snape, blinked, stared at H-W-M-N-B-N, blinked again, and returned his gaze to Snape. "Severus," he said gently, "how would you know that? You were not watching."

"Because he always does it the same way. Now if it was me, I'd use different cards each time, but that means every time you do it you have to remember something new. So he just sticks to knaves and queens." When Dumbledore began to shake his head, Snape asked, "Was your card between a knave and a queen?"

"Well, yes. But that might have been a coincidence."

"Not the way he does it. That is why they're called card 'tricks,' you know. Because he tricks you. Now, what are we going to do about Minerva and Bella?"

"NO!" Potter screamed. "I have to kill you first! You can worry about Professor McGonagall and that Lestrange person later!"

"Turnipseed," said Snape, and it was a moment before the others realized he was speaking to Lobelia, "you're a young person. Can you figure out a simple way to explain to Mr. Potter here that it will be next to impossible for me to worry about Professor McGonagall and Bella Lestrange later if he kills me now."

"Sure, but the fee is by the hour, so I suggest you save up the things you want me to do if you want to get your full money's worth."

"Spoken like the true daughter of a solicitor. You don't happen to do any _pro bono_ work…"

Potter raised his wand, got as far as the syllable, 'AV-' again, and sent Snape diving for the floor, this time behind Dumbledore.

"Now, Severus," said Dumbledore, "we have talked about this recent penchant of yours for…"

"See!" Snape exclaimed. "You do remember! Now make that little monster leave me alone!"

"Really, Harry," Dumbledore now addressed Potter. "I am certain we can discuss this sudden vendetta you have against Severus in a calm and reasonable fashion."

"If you don't step out of the way," snarled Potter, "I'm going to get him through you."

"But Harry," said Dumbledore, "surely you do not wish to kill me?"

"I can't kill you. You're already dead. You died in June and I'm avenging you."

"Eh, Harry?" said Ginny Weasley, and there was a new uneasiness in her voice. "Could we talk for just a moment?"

Potter lowered his wand, his eyes narrowed and menacing. "I already told you that we can't pick out the china pattern before we announce the engagement."

"This isn't about that," said Ginny. "It's about Professor Snape."

"That low-down, evil, murderous weasel of a…"

"Hey!" Ron shouted, but Granger shushed him.

"Harry," said Ginny quietly. "If you were an Auror and wanted to convict someone for murder, what would you need?"

"Witnesses," replied Potter. "I'm the witness. I saw it happen."

"Before that."

"Means – that's easy. Every wizard has a wand and a voice."

"Not Stan the Stickless," cried Longbottom, who suddenly decided to exhibit signs of life. "He didn't have a wand. And Mortimer the Mute…"

"…Totalus," said Potter, who had done the nonverbal 'Petrificus' as an automatic reflex the moment Longbottom opened his mouth. Longbottom returned to a state of stiff non-communication. "Opportunity," Potter continued as if there had been no interruption, "– that he had as well, there on the tower. I saw that myself."

"Before that" Ginny said.

"Motive!" Potter cried after a moment of thought. "And he had motive. He hated Professor Dumbledore!"

"I did not!" Snape shrieked from his defensive position on the floor. "I don't hate anybody!"

"You hate me!" Potter yelled back.

"I do not! I despise you, yes! You're an idiot and you frustrate the freaking poop out of me, but I don't hate you! I loathe the sight of you, but that's only because you look like your danged father. If your mother had been unfaithful, you and I would have had a marvelous relationship – relatively speaking, of course."

"Harry!" Ginny screamed. "There's one other thing you need for a murder case!"

"What's that!" Harry screamed back.

"A dead body," Ginny said softly, and the room became ominously quiet around her.

"We have a dead body," Harry said after a minute or two. "Professor Dumbledore's."

"But Professor Dumbledore is alive and standing almost next to you."

"No," said Harry fixedly. "That's more like one of the portraits on the headmaster's wall. It moves and talks, but it isn't real. His body's in the tomb."

"It was," Dumbledore admitted. "Right up until a day or two ago. But a pyromaniac convinced me to leave." He glared significantly at Snape.

"You mean you were in the tomb?" Harry was aghast.

"I was," replied Dumbledore. "Why go to all the time and trouble of designing the perfect tomb and then just up and die before you can enjoy it? The jacuzi alone…"

"Wait!" Harry cried. "Wait! You mean the tomb is now empty!"

"Empty? Not exactly. The staff for the restaurant and bar would still be there, and the physical counselor in the gym. Not to mention the pin boys in the bowling alley and the manicurist… And I suppose Trixie and Gale…"

"You rat!" Potter screamed. "You louse! You turd! I just spent the last nearly four months mourning you and you were with someone named Trixie!"

"Now wait a minute," interjected H-W-M-N-B-N, "Trixie is a very nice…"

"Shut up!" Potter was so livid as to be on the point of an apoplexy. He turned again to Dumbledore. "You poor excuse for a mentor! When were you planning on telling me you weren't dead?"

"I thought I did that about a half an hour ago, but you were not prepared to listen."

Potter was not to be brushed off so easily. "No," he said, "wait. I saw your body. You were dead."

"If you don't mind my asking," said Dumbledore, "what did I look like."

Potter thought for a minute. It had been more than four months earlier, so he needed a little time. "You were on your back," he said after a moment, "with your eyes closed and your arms and legs kind of bent in awkward positions. Your glasses were crooked."

"Blood?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yeah," Potter replied. "It was coming from the corner of your mouth."

"How much? A quart? A pint? A cup? A tablespoon?"

"About a teaspoonful."

"I see. Bones broken?"

"I don't think so. Just awkward, but not like they were snapped or anything."

"Good. Now, Harry, I want you to imagine a motorcar hitting a brick wall at, let us say seventy-five miles per hour."

Everyone's face immediately assumed an 'eeew-yuck' expression except for Lovegood, whose eyes were glittering, and Turnipseed, who started a mental fee calculation.

Dumbledore paused to allow the impression to sink in, then asked, "Did I look like that?"

"No, of course not!" exclaimed Potter.

"Well, I should have. The sight of my unconscious free-falling body splattered over the front lawn should have left all you lovely teenagers traumatized for the rest of your lives, which should lead to several conclusions."

"Wait!" cried Granger. "Harry said your body was on its back with the arms and legs out in awkward positions. If you'd fallen spread-eagled, wouldn't your robes act sort of like a parachute and slow the fall?"

"Severus," Dumbledore sighed. "Remind me to include physics as a course for next fall. It seems the Hogwarts curriculum is lacking something. Let us now go to the events on the Astronomy tower. Tell me what happened there."

Potter had already been thinking about this one. "Snape hit you with a killing curse, and you went up into the air and fell over backwards off the tower."

Dumbledore looked at Potter over his glasses. "I seem to recall a bit more than that, but we can start there. How did you know it was a killing curse?"

"He said the A-K thing and there was a flash of green light."

"Harry, have you ever seen anyone successfully cast a killing curse?"

"Yeah. Moody – well, Crouch – killed a spider in Dark Arts, and Wormtail killed Cedric."

"What happened to them?"

"They fell down dead."

"Did they get blasted into the air first?"

"Eh… no… but he probably put something extra into it because he hated you."

"What ever makes you think Severus hates me?"

"You wouldn't give him the Dark Arts job."

Dumbledore shook his head. "But I did give him Dark Arts, Harry. He had the Dark Arts job. Why would he kill me after I gave him what he wanted? You will have to do better than that."

Potter thought longer. "I just know he hates you," he said at last. "He always has that nasty expression on his face when he looks at you."

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "He wears the same expression when he is blowing out the candles on his birthday cake. In fact, I do not think I have ever seen him without a nasty expression except that one time when your father hit him with a Rictusempra spell, but I do not think that counts. So if Severus's expression never changes, how can you tell by his expression what he is thinking?"

"That's easy," said Potter. "I just know. The first class I was in, he had this I'm-going-to-get-you' expression on his face, and then he asked all those embarrassing questions nobody could answer."

"I could answer them," Granger said, sulking a little, "but if you think I'm nobody…"

"Oh, come now, Potter," Snape interjected. "The answer to every one of those questions was on page one of the book. I happen to know you bought those books on July thirty-first, and your first class with me was on September sixth. If you were like your mother, you'd have read the entire book already and known the answers. If you were like your father, you wouldn't even be sure which book was the text for Potions. That was my I-wonder-if-he's-like-his-mother expression."

"You mean you wanted me to get those answers right?"

"Of course I did. I don't ask questions I don't want answers to. And I'd much rather you were like your mother than like your father."

"Why?"

"Well for one, your mother would never think that anyone had an I'm-going-to-get-you expression the very first moment they met. Also, your mother was too intelligent to throw a Filibuster Firework into another student's Swelling Solution. Not your father, of course."

"He did what?" Dumbledore exclaimed at exactly the same moment that Potter cried, "How did you know?"

'Oh come now, Potter. There were twenty students in the class, and ten of them were Slytherins who would have thrown the fireworks into your cauldron instead of Goyle's"

"Maybe one of them was trying to get me in trouble by doing something only I would do," said Potter, conveniently forgetting that he'd just asked how Snape knew.

"You forget that I was their head of house and knew them better than just about anyone. There wasn't a Slytherin student there with that amount of subtlety. Why did you do it?"

Granger cleared her throat. "He was distracting your attention from me," she said.

Snape gave her an appraising stare. "I don't usually need Potter's help to do that."

"Yes, but this time I was sneaking into your office to steal ingredients for Polyjuice Potion."

"Ha!" Snape exclaimed. "I knew you took materials from my office. But why did you need Polyjuice?"

"Harry and Ron wanted to turn into Crabbe and Goyle to prove that Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin."

Total silence greeted this revelation, and then Hagrid started to fizz in a manner resembling McGonagall. "Malfoy the heir of Slytherin – that's a good one, that is. Gotta be pretty dumb t' think of that one."

"Can we get back to me?" Dumbledore asked. "I should very much like to resolve the question of whether or not I am alive."

They all looked at him, and everyone except Potter nodded.

"Good," Dumbledore continued. "Now, let me recap, keeping in mind that we must revisit the preliminaries. Severus says the words of the killing curse, there is a flash of green light, but instead of dropping down dead, I rise into the air and fall backwards. If I were dead and therefore incapable of controlling my muscles, I would have fallen head first and, going nearly one hundred miles per hour, been squashed to a jelly on impact. Or at least scattered over a wide area. Instead, I land spread-eagled on my back, no bones even snapped, glasses still on my face. Can you think of anything pertaining to the killing curse that might have operated here?"

Forgetting she was not in class, Granger shot her hand into the air. At Dumbledore's nod, she said, "Professor Moody/Crouch told us that we could probably all say the killing curse together and not give him a nosebleed because it has to have power behind it. And that Lestrange woman in the Department of Mysteries told Harry that the Unforgivables don't work unless you mean them."

"I don't remember that," said Potter.

"Trust me," Granger told him.

"Very good, Miss Granger. Conclusions drawn from that…?"

Granger knit her brows. "We know you can arrest downward motion; you did it for Harry in third year on the Quidditch pitch. But can you do it wandless…?" Dumbledore rolled his eyes, and Granger said, "Right." She thought again. "So you could have slowed your own fall. But to do that, you would have to still be alive. Which means Professor Snape's curse didn't kill you, which means he didn't intend it!" The note of triumph on which she ended was electric. She turned to Snape. "You didn't kill him! It was an act, a pretense, something staged…!"

"Indeed," said Dumbledore.

"But why?" Granger asked.

"I can answer that," Snape replied.

"Yes, Severus," said Dumbledore. "We all know you can. The question is, can Harry?"

"Wait a minute," said Potter. "I need to get this straight. You should have been blood and guts all over the lawn?"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "That is what usually happens to unconscious corpses that fall such a considerable distance. Like a motorcar hitting a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour."

"You said seventy-five."

"I was being conservative. Besides, does it make a difference? As far as the human body is concerned, hitting the wall at seventy-five and hitting the wall at a hundred have the same effect. You get splattered all over the lawn, and you die bloody."

"Well then I guess you looked pretty good under the circumstances."

"I guess I did. Harry, now I want you to think about Fawkes."

"Okay. I'm thinking."

"Did Fawkes start to sing when I was blasted into the air?"

"Eh, no."

"When I hit the ground?"

"No."

"While you were dueling with Severus?"

"No."

"When you discovered my body at the foot of the tower?"

"No."

"When you went to the hospital wing to see Bill Weasley?"

"Not right away."

"When then?"

Potter was thinking again. "We talked for a while, and then Professor McGonagall finally showed up, and then Fawkes started to sing."

"About how long after I was blasted off the tower?"

"About… forty-five minutes to an hour."

"I rest my case. I did not die when I was blasted off the tower because Fawkes did not start singing until nearly an hour later."

"Eh, sir," said Snape timidly. "Fawkes did start singing. Does that mean you really died?"

Dumbledore glared at Snape. "Do not ask awkward questions," he admonished. "It so happens that a phoenix is like a UFO fanatic who can be misled by sponges, cheesecloth, and latex facial prosthetics. It was necessary to keep Fawkes away from the tomb because Trixie has an allergy to feathers."

"Why didn't you let people know!" Potter yelled. "I would have liked to have known!"

"Let me put it this way, Harry." Dumbledore said. "Announcing one is alive rather defeats the purpose of pretending to be dead. And face it, if you had known, the world would have known. You are not famous for keeping secrets."

"That's not true!" Potter insisted. "I kept the secret about Professor Snape's underpants!"

"Great!" said Snape. "Now he remembers to call me Professor."

Dumbledore grinned. "What about Severus's… undergarments, Harry."

"They were gray."

There was no mistaking the disappointment on Dumbledore's face. "Of course they were, Harry. It is the nearest thing to black he can get in cotton boxers. You have noticed, I hope, that everything he wears is either black or gray. Black gown, black robe, black shoes, gray shirt, gray dressing gown and pajamas… I suppose he could get black undergarments if he went to one of those stores that sell the little bikini things in silk with a rosette, but somehow gray boxers seem more like our Severus than… Harry, forgive me for asking, but when did you see Severus's undergarments." Dumbledore nodded toward Lobelia. "We may want to retain your father, child."

Potter shrugged. "It was in a pensieve memory of a prank my dad and Sirius pulled on him when they were in fifth year."

"I know," said Turnipseed before Dumbledore could open his mouth. "You don't need us. Not yet at least."

"All right," said Potter after some more moments had passed, "if I can't kill him for murdering you, can I kill him for being evil, disgusting, and immoral and for killing my parents and trying to kill me?"

"I do hate to keep butting in," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "I know my memory isn't what it used to be what with being disembodied and all, but I distinctly recall that was me. I like Severus and all that, but it really isn't fair for him to take the credit."

"I'm not taking the credit," Snape said, still on the floor behind Dumbledore. "It's being forced on me. You can have the credit. Really. I don't want it."

"There," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "Can we at least settle this? We both agree that it was me."

"But he gave you the prophecy about me so that you would kill me." Potter was like a terrier with a bone.

"Harry," said Hermione. "You're assuming a cause and effect that aren't logical. How could Professor Snape know months ahead of time that you were the baby who was going to be born on July 31?"

"You know," Potter snapped at her, "you really are an insufferable know-it-all!"

"Professor Snape," Hermione asked, "did you know at the time that the prophecy referred to Harry?"

"Do you want to know the truth?" Snape kept having to shift around on his hands and knees because Dumbledore was trying to look again at the cards. "I didn't know it was a prophecy. I'd never heard a prophecy before. All I know is that this ditzy woman that Dumbledore was trying to brush off and get rid of, all of a sudden started talking like a female impersonator and babbling nonsense."

H-W-M-N-B-N stared at him. "If you didn't know it was a prophecy, why did you give it to me?"

"You were killing me. I had to give you something. If I hadn't heard her saying those words, I'd have given you an inside tip on the Grand National."

"What do you know about horse racing, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not a damn thing, but it wasn't a moment to be a stickler for accuracy."

"You see!" Potter screamed. "You see! He was willing to kill a baby boy just to save himself! He's disgusting!"

"Before we go into that, Harry," Dumbledore asked. "How old do you expect to get?"

"I dunno," said Potter, puzzled. "Seventy or eighty, I guess."

"And when you are seventy or eighty, Harry, would you like your whole life to be judged on the basis of one thing you did when you were nineteen?"

"No, of course not!"

"Keep that in mind, Harry. Keep that in mind."

"Actually," said Snape, his head now covered by Dumbledore's long sleeve, "the part of the prophecy I heard didn't say if it was a boy or not, and when it said 'approaches,' I was thinking of a Boeing 747 coming into Heathrow out of O'Hare. Silly me."

"It is the verb tense, Severus. 'Born as the seventh month dies' implies future, not past."

"Right. I'm being tortured to death and I'm supposed to remember grammar."

Dumbledore smiled at H-W-M-N-B-N. "Were you really going to kill him? I should have liked to have seen that. Normally Severus is quite self-possessed, but under the circumstances…"

"It was jolly fun, really," said H.W.M.N.B.N. "He was groveling on the floor in front of me – rather like he's doing now, in fact – and he kept insisting he'd tried. When he wasn't squealing like a stuck pig, of course."

"You mean he didn't give you the prophecy right away?" asked Hermione.

"Well… no. He must have forgotten about it. I distinctly remember asking, 'Didn't you bring me anything, and then he said, 'Wait! There was something.' At first I thought he was making it up just to get out of being executed."

"You know," continued H-W-M-N-B-N after a moment, "now that I think about it, he did try to bargain for you. Well, not you, of course. If he'd tried to bargain for you I'd have used his head to practice polo with, but he did try to save one of your parents. I think he fancied one of your parents." Behind Dumbledore, Snape was making desperate shushing gestures.

"Which one?" Potter asked without thinking.

Every person in the room turned and stared at Potter, who blushed furiously. "You'd still have let me and my dad die," he accused.

"Look," said Snape exasperated. "It was one or nothing. He'd never have let me have two, let alone three."

"Why my mom?"

"I tossed a coin."

"Why'd you say you fancied her?"

"I had to give some reason. You can't really say 'I'd like you to spare one of your mortal enemies because it's Thursday.'"

"You could have said it was the right thing to do," Potter protested.

It took them ten minutes to get H-W-M-N-B-N to stop laughing.

"I guess what hurts most," said Potter in the ensuing pause, "is that if it wasn't for you and that prophecy, my parents would still be alive."

"I doubt that," said H-W-M-N-B-N.

"What do you mean?" Potter asked.

"Well I don't like to brag, but even with the slight turn-around of the year leading up to it, overall we were still winning, and if I hadn't gone after your parents that night, I'd have done it two weeks later."

"What?"

"They weren't exactly on my list of favorite people. As a matter of fact, they were way up on my list of people I wanted to do without, and I was planning to do seriously without them in any case. You just advanced the timetable a little. What is it the Americans say, Severus?"

"Terminate with extreme prejudice, sir."

"Exactly. So you see, the prophecy didn't really change anything as far as you were concerned. The only one it affected was me."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, fascinated.

"Why, if Mrs. Potter hadn't gotten in the way even after I offered to let her live…"

"What!" Snape shrieked, clambering at last to his feet. "You told me you wouldn't spare her!"

"It was going to be a surprise. Call me sentimental, but I wanted to see the look on your face when I gave you… but no. She jumped in front of the spell anyway…"

"But… I… If I…" Snape stammered, confused and beginning to get a degree beyond upset.

"Shh, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly. "The world moves in mysterious ways."

"I still think," said Potter, though his tone indicated this was a last resort, "he should have done something."

"Harry," said Dumbledore gently, "if you were on top of a very tall building, and you saw someone fall off, would you jump off too, to try to save them?"

"Do I look daft?"

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't do any good," said Harry. "I'd be killing myself for nothing."

"Do you know where Severus was the night your parents died? He was at Hogwarts. He'd been at Hogwarts for two months. He didn't have any idea what was happening until it was over."

"I guess you're right," said Potter.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Because you know what the Bible says about people who judge other people too strictly…"

"No," Potter said. "What?"

"They go to hell for eating a cheeseburger."

"No, no," insisted H-W-M-N-B-N, "it's for taking your clothes to the Laundromat on Saturday afternoon."

"I thought it was for wearing cotton-polyester blends," said Snape.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "Just be sure neither your nose nor any other body orifice gets too tight," he said, "and you'll be fine."

"Does this mean nobody's going to kill me?" Snape asked.

"For the moment, Severus," replied Dumbledore. "For the moment."

Snape paused to let the others catch the distant thud of the trampoline. "So then what are we going to do about Minerva and Bella?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore, glancing at his pocket watch, "it is nearly noon. A complex transfiguration spell like that usually has an endurance factor of about two hours, but seeing as it is Minerva, I thought we might give her four…" There was a collective howl from outside as the trampoline reverted to the death eaters out of whom it had been formed, and those in the air at the moment were dumped unceremoniously on the ground. "Good. Now, shall we all go downstairs and see if we can mobilize our forces to defend against their next attack."

"Sir," said Snape to Dumbledore as the two of them were the last to leave the office. "Do you remember when I came to you…"

"When you turned your coat and betrayed…"

"Shhh! He doesn't know about that yet, remember? Do you recall what you said to me?"

"No, Severus. I do not. I distinctly remember forgetting it."

"Allow me then. You said I disgusted you because I didn't try to ask the Dark Lord for the lives of James and Harry as well as Lily."

"You know, Severus, I can be a self-righteous, sanctimonious, unreasonable, demanding, unrealistic, hypocritical, uncharitable, hateful, smug, holier-than-thou… you can stop me when you have sufficient adjectives, you know."

"You left out inaccurate, non-canonical, narrow, and bigoted."

"Right. I regretted my words almost instantly, particularly when faced with the degree to which you were willing to go to rectify any errors you may have committed. You know, Severus, to forgive is human, but unfortunately we are surrounded by people who are so convinced of their own moral superiority to the divine that they forget there is a second part to that adage. They deserve nothing less than to be judged by the same cruel, inhuman standard by which they judge you. Anything less would be unfair."

"Thank you, sir."

"Think nothing of it. Let us go see what we can do with Minerva."

"Well, there they are," Snape said to Dumbledore, looking down from the first floor windows on Minerva, Bella, and the crowd of Death Eaters swarming over the lawn twenty-five feet below. "What do you think that thing is?"

'That thing' resembled nothing more nor less than a giant log with a monstrous hollow metal head, something that might well have been stolen from the back lot of a film set, a film that dealt with elves who were not loath to accept clothes, and pretty fancy clothes at that. Some of the Death Eaters were even trying to get into character by chanting, "Grond, Grond…" – an action that momentarily confused Potter no end, since he understood them to be saying "Ron, Ron…" and accused his best friend Weasley of blatantly switching sides.

Weasley had subsequently approached Snape with an apology, "I think I know now what you've been going through all these years, sir, and I'm sorry if I ever did anything to make your life more difficult."

"He is a right git, isn't he, Weasley?"

Weasley shook his head sadly. "Understatement, sir. Understatement."

H-W-M-N-B-N now joined Snape and Dumbledore at the window, together with the Granger girl. Granger and H-W-M-N-B-N were deep in a discussion on the relative value of immortality, Granger using the example of Struldbrugs to illustrate the disadvantages of eternal life when not accompanied by eternal health and youth.

"They get old. They get arthritis and rheumatism, they lose their hair and their memory…"

"But they don't die?" H-W-M-N-B-N prompted, eager for confirmation.

"No, but what good is living if you're sick all the time and you can't remember anything, and…"

"But they don't die. Where did you say this country was?"

"Near Japan. But it's fictional. It's from a book that was written three hundred years…"

"But they don't die."

Granger gave up and stood next to Snape, looking out the window. "What's that thing?" she asked.

"Grond," Snape replied.

"No," Granger said, "he's in the Great Hall trying to get Harry to talk to him again. Why did they build a fire in its head?"

"I think," said Dumbledore, "so that when it hits the oaken doors they'll burn down."

"Poor excuse for a pyromaniac," Snape snorted. "They keep that fire going and it'll weaken the metal so that when it hits the doors, the head will crumple."

"But the doors will burn," said Dumbledore.

"Sir, did you ever try to start a campfire using just one big log?"

"Now that you mention it, Severus – no."

"A solid block of wood doesn't catch fire that easily, sir. They'd have more success hitting the wood with the cold metal. It'll break before it burns."

"Why don't you go down and tell Bella that," suggested H-W-M-N-B-N. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the advice." At the resounding silence that greeted this remark, H-W-M-N-B-N turned to Snape. "Well we are on the same side, aren't we?"

"Are you sure you aren't a Struldbrug?" Granger asked.

H-W-M-N-B-N started to respond to Granger, then stopped, leaned forward, and peered out the window. He shook his head, scratched the place where a nose would have been if he'd still had a nose, rubbed his nonexistent chin, then reached into his robes and pulled out a small contraption made of wire and carefully shaped glass.

Snape saw immediately what was about to happen and steeled himself from the expression of all emotion, though it was hard.

Taking the opposite, curved ends of the wire, H-W-M-N-B-N fitted them carefully around his ears and adjusted the two circles of glass in front of his eyes. Since he had no nose to speak of, the moment he moved, the pieces of glass dropped to about the vicinity of his mouth. H-W-M-N-B-N raised the contraption once more to his eyes and tried to hold it in place with just his left hand, but the thing twisted, dropping the right-hand piece of glass over the slit of his right nostril, fogging the glass with steam. He then removed the wire from his ears, wiped the glass pieces with the edge of his robe, and tried again.

Dumbledore was fizzing like a teakettle. Even Granger was smiling. "I didn't know you wore glasses, Tom," said Dumbledore.

"I am not certain, Headmaster," said Snape with exquisite control, "that 'wear' is the operative word."

"Drat!" exclaimed H-W-M-N-B-N. "These used to fit!"

"And when would that have been, Tom?"

"In 1956."

"Over a period of forty-one years, you have to expect some things to change."

"Was there something, Lord, that you wished to look at?"

"Well naturally. Why would I take the blasted things out if I didn't want to look at something? Someone in fact."

"Who, Lord?" Snape asked, though again he had the horrible, sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Her. The vision of my youth. The focus of my every waking and sleeping thought."

Granger looked out the window. "Bellatrix Lestrange?" she cried.

"Good heavens, no!" the Dark Lord exclaimed. "Aside from the fact that she has the most insanely jealous – and I do mean insane – husband on the planet, who would want a total psychopath? I mean, I have my foibles, I know I do, but Bella is over the top in every possible way. I realized that ages ago. I only tolerate her because she threatened to cut off…" H-W-M-N-B-N paused and quickly changed the subject. "No, it is the heavenly vision of the other one… of her."

"Professor McGonagall?" Granger gasped.

"That was the name!" shouted H-W-M-N-B-N in triumph.

"I didn't know you knew Professor McGonagall," said Granger speculatively, the whole uncharted world of what- happened- to- other- people- before- I- was- born opening in front of her eager mind like a giant tapestry.

"She certainly wasn't a professor then," admitted H-W-M-N-B-N. "She took Ancient Runes in the same hallway where my Muggle Studies classes were, and she had the loveliest curvy…"

"You took Muggle Studies!" cried Snape, all thought of emotional self-control vanishing as the secure basis of his hitherto stable world began to crumble. "Why would you…"

"Hush, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I want to hear about McGonagall's curves. Do continue, Tom."

But H-W-M-N-B-N had now stopped, staring suspiciously at Dumbledore. "Who are you?" he asked accusingly.

"I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and I am headmaster of Hogwarts."

"I'm not so sure about that," said H-W-M-N-B-N. "Professor Dumbledore taught Transfiguration and would have known all about Minerva McGonagall's curves."

"Of course he's Professor Dumbledore," Granger insisted. "I know what Professor Dumbledore looks like, and it's him."

"We've changed our tune from a couple of hours ago," Snape commented frostily.

"But what if he has transfigured himself!" exclaimed H-W-M-N-B-N. "Then he could be anyone!"

Dumbledore smiled. "But it would take an expert at Transfiguration to do that, would it not, Tom? And who is the only one here who taught Transfiguration? Having the ability to transfigure myself merely proves that I am Dumbledore."

"No, wait," said H-W-M-N-B-N, trying to work it out. "Just because you were a professor doesn't mean you were the best. Who's best at Dark Arts?"

"Well, I suppose you are, Tom."

"Aha! But I never taught it…"

"Excuse me, Lord," Snape whispered hurriedly, "but the class isn't Dark Arts. It's Defense against the Dark…"

"You're being a party pooper again, Severus."

"Yes, Lord."

To the rhythmic chant of "Grond, Grond…" the enormous battering ram, head ablaze, reached and slammed into the great oaken doors of Hogwarts.

"You did, of course," said Snape as an afterthought, "magically reinforce the doors against physical assault."

"Of course," Dumbledore huffed, then, "I'll be right back."

"It's all right," Snape said to no one in particular. "He'll get there long before they make any headway with that thing. At least they're not catapulting severed heads over the walls at us."

"Severed Heads?" said Ron Weasley, coming up from behind. "Isn't that a…"

Snape spun on him in fury. "Don't say it! Don't you dare say it! I'll be boiled in oil before I give that kind of free advertising. Besides, aren't you supposed to be talking to Potter?"

"I'm not getting anywhere – he can be awfully pigheaded, you know – so I thought I'd see what you lot are doing. Why do they keep saying my name?"

"Grond," Snape ground through his clenched teeth. "Gutteral at the beginning – dental plosive at the end." He glanced at Granger. "You two should get together. You're a match made in heaven."

"Thank you, sir," Granger responded. "What severed heads were you referring to?"

"Only that if they captured any of your people they used to cut off their heads, put the heads in the catapult, and fling them over the walls. It was a way to demoralize a defending garrison."

"That's given me an idea," Granger said.

"Does it have anything to do with either heads or catapults?" Snape asked.

"Not a bit."

"Typical."

"No, really," Granger insisted. "We could lower the students down to the ground on the west side, and then they could come around to the front and attack the Death Eaters and defeat them. There are two hundred eighty students and only about fifty Death Eaters. That's better than five to one."

"And with a gatling gun two men could hold a hill against five hundred. What are these students going to use as weapons?"

"We've been studying spells for years."

"Right. Miss Granger, did you ever go to a muggle school?"

"Certainly."

"Could you tell me what happened in 1215?"

"I… eh… not really, sir."

"Do you remember anyone ever mentioning 1215?"

"Vaguely."

"Let me give you a hint. King John, Runnymede, cornerstone of western democracy…"

"Sorry, sir."

"Let me tell you something about students. The vast majority of them cram their studies into the night before an exam, learn just enough to get an acceptable mark, then forget it all five minutes after the exam is over. You'll have two hundred eighty bodies, but only around thirty will be able to do anything. That means you're out-numbered."

"I really think you're underestimating…"

"And what about logistics?"

"Logistics, sir?' Granger gulped.

"The west side of the castle is a cliff, and the windows of Hufflepuff house are narrow slits, so you could only lower the students from the windows of the rooms off the entrance hall. It would take about ten minutes per student for a total of 2800 minutes, which is forty-six and two-thirds hours. Even if you had them going simultaneously out of all ten windows, it's nearly five hours. You don't think they're going to hang around waiting for you, do you?"

Granger sighed. "I'm developing a truly sympathetic understanding of H-W-M-N-B-N," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You can poop a party faster than anyone else I know."

"Look," Weasley burst in suddenly. "Why do we have to lower anyone at all. Why don't we just zap them with spells right here from the first floor?"

"That wouldn't work, Ron," said Granger. "First you'd have trouble with the…"

"Who's pooping parties now?" Snape stage whispered. Granger glared at him.

"No, really," Weasley insisted. "We could get the thirty good students up here and hit them with all kinds of things: bat boogeys, monkey ears, anteater snouts, bear eyes…"

"Whoa! What are bear eyes?" Snape asked.

"Gladly eyes," Ron explained as if speaking to a dim-witted younger brother. "Gladly the Bear eyes. You know… Gladly the cross-eyed bear?"

Snape rolled his own eyes heavenward and prayed for patience.

"Actually, sir," said Granger, "now that I think about it, it isn't such a bad idea."

It took several minutes of good, solid forensics work to convince Snape, but at last he was willing to concede that it probably wouldn't hurt, and it might do some good. Word went out to the four houses that their best spell casters were needed to repel the Death Eater attack.

Surprisingly, the biggest turnout was from Slytherin house. Once they had ascertained that they would be hidden from view by pilasters and thus unidentifiable, and would be able to strike back at Death Eater parents, older siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, people they had to kiss at Christmas, and their mothers' mahjong partners, you couldn't keep the Slytherin students away. They were at the forefront of the battle, ready to die for Hogwarts.

"Take that, Aunt Gertrude, you smelly old cow!" cried one particularly petite and refined Slytherin girl, typifying her entire house.

"Which one's Aunt Gertrude?" Lobelia Turnipseed asked. "And by the way, I'm Hufflepuff."

"Hufflepuff sucks eggs," replied the Slytherin girl. "And the tall one with the pigtails is Aunt Gertrude."

Lobelia hit Aunt Gertrude with the curse of a thousand pigeons.

"Good one," the Slytherin girl said with unfeigned appreciation. I'm Saramantha Pushcart."

"Lobelia Turnipseed," said Lobelia. "You have any other relatives down there?"

"Just my cousin Duane. He's right over…"

Cousin Duane experienced a curse meant to drive cockroaches from a second floor pantry and was last seen hopping down the hill on his right arm and leg, the left appendages waving frantically in the air.

Back in the castle, Lobelia and Saramantha were cheering wildly for Slytherpuff house and hugging each other in triumph.

At about four o'clock in the afternoon, the Death Eaters that had followed Bella and Minerva to Hogwarts retreated to the bottom of the hill, nursing their wounds. 'Wounds' – let us be frank about this aspect of the battle – was an overstatement. Among the withdrawing Death Eaters there was no trace of spilt blood to be seen. What was to be seen was a variety of pig snouts, elephant ears, beaver teeth, kangaroo tails, duck feet, shark gills, and the fabled appendages of stallions and bulls that were a serious impediment to the movement of any Death Eater shorter than five foot eleven – these last being mostly courtesy of the Gryffindor boys.

The halls of Hogwarts echoed to the cheers of its victorious students. Cheers that Snape was quick to quell. "Idiots!" he snapped at anyone who would listen. "They're not giving up, they're just regrouping. Get back to that window, you fool Ravenclaw, or you'll be scratching fleas from your ears with your hind claws. You're not the only one who knows how to cast a Felinum Transmuto curse, you know."

The students listened and stayed at their posts. What they got was not another onslaught. It was instead a timid little emissary named Gaspar Lactebiscotti who practically pulled his own fingers off while wringing his hands. "Please," he pleaded, "consider the consequences. They're working on the alchemical formulae even as we speak."

"Alchemical formulae," said Snape, sniffing suspiciously. "That sounds like a red herring. I've yet to meet the alchemist who could reason his way out of a paper bag. Our Sopio Celonis will stop anything they can send against us."

He was about to find out how wrong he could be.

The next messenger was Bella herself. "Hey there, Snapey," she crooned. "How's it hang… I mean, how have you been getting along since we last talked? I took your advice. I became the mouthpiece for our lord and master. We seem to have lost him, though. Is he up there with you? Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I need his…"

"Tell him yourself," Snape yelled down at her. "He has this really vivid memory of you leaving him paralyzed on the floor of his own office."

"I do?" asked H-W-M-N-B-N from a secure vantage point in the corner of the classroom from which Snape was speaking. "I'm sure if you say so it must have happened, but truth to tell I'm a bit fuzzy about the details right about…"

"She left you paralyzed in your office!" Snape screamed at his Dark Lord. "We had to step across your prostrate body when we came in by floo…"

"You know, you don't have to be explicit about intimate physical details…"

"Prostrate! It means lying down on the floor! Godfrey Daniels! If I had a nickel for every time you didn't understand a simple vocabulary word…"

"What's a nickel?"

Snape turned, found the nearest wall, and proceeded to bang his head against it.

"I understand," Bella cooed from below, "that you two are having a slight difference of opinion right now. Don't worry, Lord. Lots of people have had that experience with Severus. He can poop a party faster than any…"

"You're going down!" Snape shrieked at her from his window. "Nobody stabs me in the back like that. You're going down!"

"Now that," said Bella calmly, "is a perfect example of what I would designate as vitriol. Vitriol is acid and biting. I'd say our Severus is astoundingly acid and biting, even when he doesn't intend it. Vitriol is green. What's the color of Slytherin? I don't really think I have to answer that question…"

"You witch!" Snape yelled at Bella. "You're inventing this as you go!"

"I don't have to invent anything, Sevvie my love. You hand it to me on a silver and green platter. Minerva's working out the alchemical formulae as we speak and believe me, dearest, you're the vitriol."

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Snape hissed with all the sting of sulfuric acid, "you have no business twisting people's minds. Those of us inside the castle are the good guys. You and your friends are the bad guys. No amount of vitriol is going to change that relationship."

"No?" said Bella, and her voice dripped with wounded sincerity. "What about the black stage in the process. What about the white and red stages? Wouldn't your friends on the inside like to know about them? Wouldn't they like to know how you're leading them down the garden path?"

"You're a liar!" Snape shouted.

"Well now," Hagrid interjected, "I'm not convinced o' that. Just what white 'n black stages might we be talking about now?"

"There, Sevvie my poppet, someone does want to know." Bella crooned. "And if what Minerva told me is true, precisely the right person. You see, if you want to acquire the Philosopher's Stone, you have to follow the right procedures."

"Oh," said Hagrid. "Y're too late. We already had the Philosopher's Stone. We didn't want it no more, so we destroyed it."

"Destroyed it!" cried H-W-M-N-B-N. "And after all the trouble I went to, trying to get it? Living in the back of that nincompoop's head for months! To think how nearly it was in my grasp."

"But that ain't neither here nor there," Hagrid pointed out. "They're on about making something that's not only already been made, it's been destroyed. No reason for anyone to go there."

Bella was tapping her foot impatiently. "We're not making the real stone, you fool," she snapped up at Hagrid. "It's a metaphor for the goal we're trying to reach. We just call it the Philosopher's Stone. And we have to go through the proper stages. The first stage is black, and that was clearly my cousin Sirius."

"Why couldn't it have been Regulus?" Snape asked, the picture of innocence.

"In order to get through the different stages, they have to have a reaction with the vitriol, and they have to be destroyed. They have to die."

"I thought you said I was the vitriol."

"You are, my love."

"But I didn't kill Sirius," Snape said flatly. "You did. That means you're the vitriol. You were in Slytherin house. You're just as green as I am. Maybe more so. Besides, my metaphor for attaining a goal is climbing a mountain. So the stone metaphor is irrelevant."

"But you did kill Dumbledore, and he was the white stage. His name's in a old document – Albus – it means white. And the red stage is there, too – Rubeus. So you see it all works out."

"I take it then," said Snape snidely, "that the Latin for black is Sirius."

"No…" Bella began just as Dumbledore and Hagrid figured out where this was leading.

"I'm quite alive," Dumbledore pointed out calmly as Hagrid roared, "Over my dead body!"

"Well, yes, you poor excuse for a grounds-keeper, that rather was the idea," Bella snarled up at them. And who was the other one, the geezer?"

"That was Professor Dumbledore," Snape replied rather absent-mindedly, as he was momentarily absorbed by the spectacle of Hagrid's broad features turning the precise shade of pickled beets. "You know, Bella, I was about to offer a counter argument that Sirius's hair was black, and Albus's white, but that Hagrid's wasn't red, except that Hagrid's in the process of supporting your 'red' theory as we speak. But you've still got the vitriol wr…"

"What do you mean, that was Professor Dumbledore? Dumbledore's DEAD! You KILLED HIM!" Bella had advanced to the fist shaking stage.

"Not really. I just tossed him…" Snape's protestations were interrupted.

"Let me assure you, Bella my little cabbage," – Dumbledore was doing a superb Rudy Vallee imitation – "that the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. In fact, I faked the whole thing in order to take a well-deserved vacation for several months…"

"YOU LIAR!"

"Bella, this is hardly the time for recriminations…"

"YOU CHEAT!"

"There is no reason to take this personally…"

"YOU BLACKGUARD!"

"Why Bella! You amaze me! The previously untapped wealth of your vocabulary…"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The bolt of green light struck its target, and Dumbledore slumped to the floor at Snape's feet. As Bella's wand recalibrated its angle, Snape dove for the same floor, seizing H-W-M-N-B-N and dragging him down out of range as well. Hagrid crashed next to them, and the students fled in panic.

The first sound came from Hagrid. "Ahem. I hope ya don't mind my pointing out that in the moment of truth, in the face of death, ya chose to save him and not me."

"You did, didn't you!" cried H-W-M-N-B-N. "And here I was on the verge of doubting your loyalty."

Snape neither flinched nor blushed. "In such a situation, Lord, one cannot even speak of choices. There was only one sane course, and I took it." As H-W-M-N-B-N preened himself, Snape hissed at Hagrid, "How was I supposed to save you? You weigh ten times as much as I do! Get real!"

Down below, Bella had reverted to her coaxing voice. "Sev…vy. Oh, Sev…vy. Come out, come out wherever you are. Bellatrix isn't going to hurt you… You can show your face."

Snape raised himself so that his head was just above the window ledge, but behind a pilaster. "Right!" he yelled. "That's two for two, Bella. Sirius and Albus. I think we know who the vitriol is now, don't we? And now that I think about it, wasn't there a yellow stage? Don't you need someone to represent yellow? What about me, Bella? I'm hiding behind a wall! Is that yellow enough for you? You can't go after Hagrid until you get me first!"

A bolt of green light hit the outside face of the wall, and Snape again dove for the floor. There he confronted a Hagrid on the verge of tears.

"That there's the nicest thing anyone ever did for me," Hagrid gushed. "I ain't going t' forget it."

"That's nice," said Snape and raised himself up again. "Cheap, Bella! Really cheap! No motive, no foreshadowing, no moral lesson… Not even the pathos of a hack writer! Just bam, slam, thank you, ma'am, and he's dead. You're pathetic, you know! You and this metaphor of yours!"

As the next bolt of green light slammed into the exterior wall, a sound came from Snape's left. The sound sounded like 'psst,' and it seemed to come from the dead body of Dumbledore.

"Sir," Snape whispered, "are you alive, sir?"

"And if I am," Dumbledore whispered back, "it is due to my exceptional powers of recall and my rapport with the students. Did you know that Bella barely squeaked an 'Acceptable' on her Charms OWL? Never did do the NEWT courses. That poor woman could not Kedavra fish in a barrel."

"Then why did you fall?" Snape asked, and added as an afterthought, "Sir?"

"Tactics," replied Dumbledore. "I thought it might give us a strategic advantage."

"Severus," whined H-W-M-N-B-N, "who are you talking to?"

"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore echoed, "who are you talking to?"

Snape glowered. "Professor Dumbledore," he told H-W-M-N-B-N.

"It's very unkind of you, you know," the whining voice continued, "to pretend to have such a low opinion of my intelligence."

"Lord," Snape replied as Dumbledore snickered silently, "I would never pretend any such thing. Why do you think that?"

"I'm not blind, Severus. I just saw Bella Kedavra him. You can't hold a conversation with a dead man."

"No, Lord. I shall cease at once." Snape turned to Hagrid. "Would you take Dumbledore's body downstairs to the Great Hall? No. Wait. Take him up to his… to McGonagall's office."

From below, Bella's voice drifted up again. "Did I get you, Sevvie? Tell me I got you… You know, if I got you, it isn't nice to hide it from me." The voice was increasingly irritated. "Snape, are you going to admit I got you, or not?"

Snape could resist no longer. From behind the pilaster he called down, "You're absolutely right, Bella. You got me. I'm dead."

"Well at least one thing went right today," Bella sighed.

Next to Snape, H-W-M-N-B-N was fizzing. "Bella's dumber than I thought. She thinks she can talk to… She didn't really get you, did she?"

"No, Lord, I am unscathed."

"Beggin' yer pardon," Hagrid broke in. "How am I supposed to get into the office without the password?"

"The same way you always do," Snape said. "With the pink umbrella."

"How did you know?" Hagrid had now narrowed his eyes in a threatening way.

"If wands could be mended by ordinary magic, Weasley wouldn't have had to use Spellotape on his after he drove that car into the Willow. I figure it was elves who fixed yours, and since they can get into the office to make beds and lay fires, so can you."

"Well I ain't saying y're wrong," said Hagrid, clearly impressed. He bent down to pick up Dumbledore's body.

"Now don't go banging his head against things," Snape cautioned.

Hagrid giggled. "He's dead. He won't care."

Snape watched with some trepidation as Hagrid swung the limp Dumbledore over his shoulder and headed for the potentially lethal staircases.

Before going up to the headmistress's office to talk to Dumbledore, it occurred to Snape that he might need fortification, sustenance, in a word – food. He was hungry, and the house-elves were figuratively beckoning him down to the kitchens. Even before he got to the second floor, though, he could hear the loud voices arguing in the entrance hall. Girls' voices. Granger and the Weasley girl. (It wasn't that Snape recognized the voices of all his students – far from it – it was just that those two talked so much that they were hard to miss.)

"Professor!" Granger cried as Snape stepped onto the landing at the top of the marble staircase, "You have to help us! We've just figured out that Harry's a Hor…" Potter was frantically trying to stop her.

"I don't think it's gotten that bad," Snape replied with a sarcastic smile. "A bit of an apple polisher, maybe. I might even go so far as to say 'toady,' but…"

Granger eluded Potter's grasp. "Horcrux!" she shouted. "Harry's one of Voldemort's Horcruxes!"

"Offirmo Labrarum!" Snape shrieked, clutching his left arm with his right hand.

"Very cute," said Granger. "What would that have done if you'd been holding a wand?"

"Locked your lips as tight as a miser's fist," Snape grumbled. "I told you not to say that word."

"Sorry. Look, we've decided…"

"You decided," Potter snarled. "The rest of us don't agree. Right, Ron?"

Weasley glanced from Potter to Granger. "Sorry, mate," he said. "There are priorities in life, you know. Hermione's right." He leered at Granger, who ignored him.

"Hmmm..." Snape mused. It was meant to be a pensive 'hmmm,' but it came out sounding nastily speculative, probably due to the lack of visual and performing arts in Hogwarts's curriculum. "I can see where taking that idea to its logical conclusion might be something Potter would find unappealing. Have you decided how to kill him yet?"

"We're not going to kill him," Hermione informed Snape and everyone around her. "Not permanently, anyway."

"I see," Snape said with admirable gravity. "You're going to temporarily kill him."

"No!" Ginny insisted, then relented. "Well, yes, that's sort of the idea. We're going to remove Harry's soul from his body, then kill him to destroy the soul fragment of the Horcrux, then put Harry's soul back to reanimate him."

"I see," Snape said again, that being the most neutral thing he could think of. "I take it you've done the research and this is, in fact, a physically viable action."

"If you mean has anyone ever done it before," retorted Hermione, "the answer is no. But it works in theory."

"In theory," Snape said, "the Titanic was unsinkable. How are you going to extract Potter's soul?"

"They're not!" Harry stated flatly. "I'm not cooperating."

"We were thinking of getting a Dementor," Ginny explained. "When the Dementor has the soul partway out, Hermione 'll chase it off with a Patronus and…" She blushed. "I'll store Harry's soul for him."

"We won't even discuss domesticating Dementors," said Snape. "What if you get the wrong soul?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if you 'store' What's-His-Name's soul and kill Harry's? How will you know you have the right one?"

"That's easy," Ron answered. "We've known Harry for ages. We look for the soul that's part muggle, had an unhappy childhood, can speak Parseltongue, is a decent Legilimens but a lousy Occlumens, is really good at dueling, and has this thing about quietly disobeying rules."

"You've just described the Dark Lord," said Snape gently.

Snape left the group of students still squabbling over the best way to separate Potter from at least one of his souls and continued his journey to the kitchens and food. The entrance to the kitchens was supposed to be controlled by a picture of a bowl of fruit (the work of an artist whose fidelity to lifelike portrayal combined the perspectives of Dali and Picasso), but Snape couldn't find it. Instead the walls of the underground passage were adorned with pictures of wizards and house-elves, except…

Snape peered closely at the pictures. It was like looking into a chamber of horrors, a glimpse of Hades. The house-elves in them were depicted in a variety of locations – beaches, ski lodges, cruise ships – and were either engaged in activities such as playing tennis and polo, or were lounging in deck chairs or reclining in hot tubs. The waiters bringing them cocktails, and the masseuses massaging their ears were all… wizards and witches!

Studying the horrifying images, disgusted by the intrinsic indecency confronting him, Snape searched for anything that might resemble a key to open the doors. He found it not in a painting, but on a braided rope hanging on the wall that had a large sign next to it saying, 'Pull for Admittance.'

How quaint, Snape thought, and pulled the rope. The door panel, cleverly disguised as a stone wall, slid open, and Snape found himself staring at a small, humanoid creature with blue breeches, a lime green belted tunic much too big for him, a soft purple Phrygian cap, and a vapid expression on his face.

"Which one are you?" Snape snapped at the stupid-looking elf, wondering what had happened to its towel.

"Dopey," said the elf, and closed the door.

Incensed at being called insulting names, Snape pulled at the rope again. The answering elf this time had a deep pink belted tunic, a brown cap and breeches, a white beard, a nose reddened by overindulgence in something – though Snape hesitated to guess what – and an irritated scowl on its face that was decidedly un-elflike. "Who are you?" Snape asked.

"Grumpy," stated the elf trying to slam the door shut but foiled by the unexpected interference of Snape's foot. "You're not wanted here." It pushed harder on the door.

Thankful for the thickness and stiffness of the leather in his boots, Snape smiled sweetly at the 'elf.' "You're a dwarf, aren't you?" he said.

"Ain't none o' your business," replied the elf… eh, dwarf… eh, dwelf. It pushed against the door again. "You'd best leave while the leaving's good."

"I don't think so," said Snape. "First, the Castle is under attack from people who think you're the scum of the earth, and it looks like they may win, so you'd do well to accept all the help you can get, and second I'm hungry. Where are the real elves?"

"We are the real elves," the dwelf replied, only to be interrupted by a high, squealing voice.

"Is that you, Professor Snape, sir? It's Dobby. Tell Mr. Harry Potter we 's been overrun by subtyrants…" The voice went silent as clubbing sounds issued from the kitchens.

"Subtyrants?" said Snape. "Subterranean tyrants? Underground workers? Miners? In a word, dwarves? I think you'd better… OWCH!" He managed to pull his foot free, but just barely. "You're going to regret this! I really was hungry!"

Snape eased his way out of the kitchen area with its hideous, obscene artwork and headed upstairs, limping badly. _It's a metatarsal_, he thought, _maybe several metatarsals. That's what you get for trying to argue with a theme-park refugee. If I'd had my wand…_ It only then occurred to him to wonder where the dwarves had come from. 'Subtyrants' Dobby 'd said. _I know about the Chamber of Secrets and the place where we guarded the Philosopher's Stone. What else is there under Hogwarts?_

_The question is_, Snape thought as he hobbled past Potter and his still-bickering friends, _who would know about the underpinnings of Hogwarts castle? Gryffindor and Ravenclaw have their heads in the clouds. Dumbledore and H.W.M.N.B.N. have their heads – well Merlin alone knows where they keep their heads. Slytherin is physically, mentally, and metaphorically under water all the time – though that does put them closer to the problem – and then there's… Hufflepuff._

Remembering the rapid-fire curses from the first floor earlier that afternoon, Snape started up the main staircase two steps at a time. Started, but never finished. The metatarsals turned out to be more than hypothetical, and Snape came down on the injured left foot with a howl of pain. When the mist cleared, he realized he was sitting on the fourth step, his foot still on the second. There are things enthusiasm can overcome. This was not one of them.

Above him floated a voice like the tinkling of all the bells on a Christmas sleigh and the cooing of doves. "That's your head of house? Looks a bit soft to me."

Shaking his head to expel the last traces of fog, Snape looked up into the eyes of the evil midget who masqueraded as a doll-like child. "Turnipseed," he said. "Right? Who are you?" This last question was addressed to Lobelia's companion.

"Doesn't even know the students in his own house," Lobelia gloated. "Some professor."

"If you, Miss Ice-Wouldn't-Melt-In-My-Heart, had ever bothered to pay attention to recent history, you would have noticed that I haven't been head of house all term, and you're both first years." Snape tried reaching for the banister to pull himself to his feet. It was too far away.

"Some wizard," added Lobelia.

"Wizard enough to kidnap that ridiculous teddy-bear and cut its eyes out with a penknife."

Her own eyes wide, Lobelia held up the innocent bear and gazed at it with passionate affection. "Could you really? I tried holding his paws in a candle flame once, but all they did was smolder, and he didn't let out a peep. I'm beginning to think my parents were gypped. He was supposed to be a Good-Time Bear."

"Parents!" Snape retorted. "Who might they be? Attila the Hun and the Wicked Witch of the West?"

"I'm Saramantha Pushcart," said Saramantha politely, "and I want you to know that I think all the other Slytherin students are wrong. I think you're cool."

"Great," said Snape. "A testimonial. What I need is a mole. You." He addressed the tiny Lobelia. "Badger. Hole-Rat. What do you know about what's under Hogwarts?"

"What's in it for me?" Lobelia countered.

"I'm going to sue the Sorting Hat," said Snape. "What was it thinking of when it put you in Hufflepuff?"

It was a sellers' market. Lobelia got the promise of ten hours worth of tutoring in each of Potions, Defense against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Charms, and Herbology. She tried to hold out for Transfiguration and History of Magic as well until Snape confessed to her what his OWL scores had been. In addition, Snape promised to sneak into the files and change the mark of one course that year to a grade higher if Lobelia was dissatisfied. Then she overestimated her market value.

"I will not create a magical glockenspiel to play _'Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja'_ for your birthday." Snape insisted. "It's not that I don't like Mozart, but that Flute thing just gets on my nerves. Let What's-His-Name win. It's an acceptable trade-off from where I'm sitting."

"Fine!" cried Lobelia. "Get your own mole!"

"Maybe I will!" Snape retaliated, employing his greater debating skills and wider vocabulary.

Lobelia was incensed, and ready to terminate negotiations. Then Saramantha, true Slytherin that she was, stepped forward. Having listened to both sides, she recognized that the problem was not the glockenspiel, nor even Mozart, but the Flute.

"Why can't the glockenspiel just play 'Happy Birthday to You?'" she asked.

A compromise was reached, a deal was struck, and Lobelia led Snape down into the bowels of Hogwarts.

[Now, before we go any further, we must remind the gentle reader of the nature of this 'leading.' Snape's left foot was broken, and he had no wand. Both girls had wands, but they were not healers. They might have lent their wands to Snape, but they refused to trust him further than fish could fly. He had thus to hobble, with an arm across the shoulder of each small (as in short) girl to the dungeons near Slytherin house, passing Potter, Granger, and an unspecified number of Weasleys on the way. There was, for good or ill, nothing clandestine about it.]

"Why are we going to Slytherin house?" Snape asked as the two girls assisted him down the third flight of stone steps.

"We're not," Lobelia answered. "There's a lot more down here than Slytherin."

"Aren't you afraid the Slytherin students will catch you trespassing on their domain?"

"Let me tell you a secret, Snake Breath – Slytherins wouldn't notice a charging rhinoceros in a maze of Legos."

"Hey, Badger Brain!" cried Saramantha. "I resent that!"

"Did you ever notice me hanging around the not-so-secret Wall?" Lobelia wrinkled her snub nose at the blank expression on Saramantha's face. "Case rested," she said.

"That case may be closed," Snape growled, "but mine isn't. I'm going to have you hauled in front of the headmaster for disrespect to a staff member… OWCH!" Lobelia had 'forgotten' to support the left foot as it touched down on the next step.

"Headmistress," she said, "and I seem to recall that you were replaced by someone whose résumé didn't include making unauthorized administrative changes."

They reached a landing where there was a corridor heading north under the castle. Lobelia pointed and informed Snape, "The entrance to the mines is that way."

"What mines?" said Snape. "There aren't any…"

"I thought you were looking for dwarves. Besides, where do you think they get the money for the overhead? Have you ever heard of the wizarding world being taxed? And where do you think all those galleons, sickles, and knuts come from? The Royal Mint? Face it, the school's a front. According to my father, it always has been."

Snape held out until they got to the sloping passage leading down to the mines. On the way, Lobelia told him of the great wealth under the hills. There were mines of gold and silver, of copper and tin, of iron and lead. There were jewels, too. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, opals, pearls…

"Wait a minute!" Snape cried. "You don't mine… OWCH!"

"Are you calling me a liar?" Lobelia asked, her dainty foot poised over Snape's left metatarsals.

"No," said Snape. "Of course not. Can we go back to the entrance hall now?"

The three hobbled their way back to the staircases, at which point, as if they had agreed beforehand, Lobelia and Saramantha stood aside.

"Come on," Snape insisted. "Help me up the stairs."

"We'd rather watch," said Saramantha.

"Are you sure you're not related to the Marquis de Sade, you little snake?"

"Flattery," said Saramantha, "will get you nowhere."

Once again Snape started to climb a flight of stairs, and once again his enthusiasm fell short of his goal. The third step this time. He sat on the cool stone, the foot inside his boot throbbing. Lobelia settled beside him. "Now," she said, "about those marks."

"You agreed to one class."

"That was then. I'd prefer ten."

"You only have seven classes. I'll give you three."

"Just to show you how fair I can be, I'll go down to nine."

"Five."

"Eight."

"All right! Seven!"

"Seven it is. There, you see, that wasn't so hard." Lobelia patted Snape on the shoulder.

The trek back to the marble staircase was an arduous one, but Snape managed to keep his focus off the pain by thinking of every synonym for snake that he could, both ancient and modern. Viper… adder… reptile… serpent… worm… And then there were the types of snakes. Cobra… rattlesnake… asp… Slughorn and Sprout were going to hear from him if it was the last thing he did.

Madam Pomfrey looked grim. "It's broken," she said.

"I think I figured that out already," replied Snape, lying on one of the hospital beds. "By use of the singular, are you indicating that it's only one bone, because it certainly feels…"

"I'm indicating that it's only one foot. It looks like three bones. It also looks like some idiot has been walking on it instead of coming directly here. A waste of a good boot if you ask me."

"I still don't see why you had to cut it apart."

"No? Maybe I should have pulled it off. You would have provided the entire castle with a most entertaining concert."

"I think I could have controlled my reactions."

"Not the way this foot is swollen. As it is, we'll have to get it down to at least half its present size before I have a hope in Hades of even trying to set the bones." Pomfrey turned to a glass-fronted cabinet to get a bottle ominously labeled 'Deflating Unguent: For external topical use only. If applied to healthy skin, call Poison Control. If accidentally swallowed, call undertaker.'

Pomfrey pulled on three pairs of surgical gloves. "Now don't move," she warned Snape as she began applying the unguent.

Snape had seriously miscalculated his ability to control his reactions, but by shoving half the blanket into his mouth, he was able to muffle those reactions sufficiently that only Pomfrey was aware of them. To himself he conceded that cutting off the boot had been wise.

"There you are," said H-W-M-N-B-N, sticking his head around the hospital wing's door. "That Potter boy said you might be here. He seemed to find it amusing."

It was a few minutes before Snape was able to remove the blanket and respond. "That 'Potter boy' would be amused by the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre," he said, then shrieked, "What are you doing, you medical hack! Haven't you ever heard of painkillers!"

"I've always admired the exceptional control you have over your reactions," said Pomfrey dryly. "It's an inspiration to us all."

"I'm going to report you to the Wizard Medical Council for malpractice!"

"Those two little girls are going to have fun describing your activities at the hearing." Pomfrey had clearly dealt with difficult patients before.

"You've been having activities with little girls?" H-W-M-N-B-N grinned. "And here I thought you were so stodgy. This is a whole new Snape."

"Oh, shut up!" Snape snapped at him.

The click-snort-wheeze that followed this outburst was the sound of H-W-M-N-B-N clamping his jaws shut and then trying to breathe through virtually non-existent nostrils. After a moment's valiant effort, his face began to turn purple, a color that clashed gruesomely with his crimson eyes. Madam Pomfrey had turned away to prepare for the bone setting part of her duty and didn't notice, but Snape felt like he was going to be sick.

"What did you want, anyway," Snape asked H-W-M-N-B-N grumpily, staring momentarily at the ceiling in self-defense.

H-W-M-N-B-N looked miffed, but was at least able to breathe again. "How can I tell you that if I'm supposed to shut up?"

"Forget I said that. What did you want?"

H-W-M-N-B-N nodded toward Madam Pomfrey, who was preoccupied with choosing her next round of salves and ointments. "I think it would be better if we waited until You-Know-Who is gone."

"That's just dumb," Snape retorted. "How can you tell me what you want if you're gone?"

"Not me, you fool!" cried H-W-M-N-B-N. "You-Know-Who!" He nodded again towards Pomfrey.

"Look," Snape huffed. He was tired and in pain, and didn't appreciate games. "If you don't want to tell me anything, fine. Don't tell me anything. But I know who You-Know-Who is just as well as you do, and if You-Know-Who walks out before I know what You-Know-Who wants, then you know who is going to punch You-Know-Who right in the mouth."

There was a pause while H-W-M-N-B-N tried to digest this. "Let's start over again," he suggested.

Madam Pomfrey chose that moment to return to her patient. "I think the swelling has gone down enough now to proceed," she stated, starting to probe the foot, only to have Snape block her hand.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he said. "What did I ever do to you?"

"I can always tell when you're upset," said Pomfrey, "because your nostrils get all thin and pinched. Do you want to tell Poppy what's wrong?"

"I want you to give me an analgesic before you start twisting my broken bones, you descendant of Torquemada."

"Well, why didn't you say so instead of insisting on your own fortitude or asking me foolish questions? You know the contents of my cupboards. You could have requested anything you wanted instead of playing coy for hours."

"It hasn't been hours!" Snape protested.

"Figure of speech," Pomfrey said, her mouth pursed in a splendid imitation of McGonagall. Behind her, H-W-M-N-B-N was fizzing like a shaken soda can. "What do you want?" Pomfrey continued.

"Sodium pentothal," Snape replied, "or at least an aspirin."

"I think I have something in between those two extremes," said Pomfrey, and went to get it.

"Now," Snape hissed at H-W-M-N-B-N, "what do you want?"

"Well, seeing as how Dumbledore is finally dead – and mind you, I'm not going to assign blame, or credit either for that matter – it was you several months ago or Bella this afternoon – given that incontrovertible fact, I think that a certain rearranging of relative status is in order, not only vis-a-vis you and me, but also with regard to Miss… eh, Mrs… eh, Ms… Oh, you know!"

"The goddess with the Ancient Runes books?"

"See! You do understand!"

"So, what did you have in mind?"

"There's a vacancy, isn't there? One that would put whoever filled it into a very advantageous position with regard to underlings… I'm sorry, that was an unfortunate way of putting it… with regard to subservient… no, that's not kind either…"

"How about inferior?" Snape prompted.

"Well now, I wouldn't have suggested it myself, but as it comes from the ranks, why not? Advantageous with regard to the inferior ranks. Yes, that sounds all right. In any event, it occurred to me that I might do very well by becoming headmaster of Hogwarts."

At that moment, Pomfrey returned to Snape's bedside, thereby distracting H-W-M-N-B-N and giving Snape time to think of a response.

One problem in coming up with that response was that for the life of him Snape could not think of a better alternative. Even before Dumbledore's blatant desertion of the sinking ship, Snape had begun having doubts about the former headmaster's grasp of essentials. There was, after all, that unfortunate business with a ring that was known to be cursed. Snape pondered whether or not he wanted Dumbledore back in command and came up with a resounding 'probably not' as an answer. A week earlier he might have supported McGonagall, but she and the wizarding world's answer to Elizabeth Bathory (try typing 'Blood Countess' into wikipedia) were even now demonstrating what a naive idea that had been.

Who did that leave? Nobody in the Ministry of Magic had the administrative skills, and none of the currently employed professors had the academic background. Snape himself had no intention of taking on the job (he would be too tempting a target), but there was always the possibility of being the _Eminence Grise_ behind the metaphoric throne. Not that a cardinal ever sat on a throne, but Snape never expected perfection from a metaphor and was therefore seldom disappointed in them.

This entirely profitable line of reasoning was interrupted by Pomfrey's inexplicable insistence that Snape swallow something.

"What are you trying to force down my throat, woman?" Snape roared, lashing out at both the hand that held the pill and the other that held a glass of water. "Are you trying to poison me?"

Pomfrey masterfully avoided the attack as if she a) had anticipated it at least five minutes earlier and b) was used to such behavior from her patients (or at least this patient). "It's your painkiller," she said. "You requested it."

"Oh," said Snape. "Which one did you chose?"

"The archetypal opioid."

"Morphine," Snape nodded. "That would certainly work for the pain, but isn't it constipating?"

"A Type A personality like yours, who would notice?"

"I might notice."

"When you do, I'll give you an enema."

Snape took the pill. "You are a truly evil woman," he told Pomfrey. "I'm going to report you to the British Medical Association."

Pomfrey chuckled. "And they would all love meeting you. You've been the subject of several well-received articles."

"Oh, really?" said H-W-M-N-B-N, rubbing his hands gleefully together. "On what medical topic?"

"You keep your big nose out of this!" Snape shouted.

H-W-M-N-B-N fingered the place where his nose used to be. "Still big, eh. I suppose I could have one more operation."

"There's the subject for your next medical article," Snape told Pomfrey. "Anorexia of the nasal appendage. You'd get both the Pulitzer and the Nobel Prize."

Pomfrey just went back to her office. "Let me know when you need another pill," she said as she left.

"Wait!" Snape yelled. "Aren't you supposed to set the bones in my foot?"

"The swelling hasn't gone down yet," Pomfrey replied over her shoulder. "Besides, are you in any pain?"

"Well… I… eh…" Snape started to say as he realized that he was not, in fact, any longer in pain, and then he was waking up from an infinite blackness into glaring brightness. The 'morphine' had been sodium pentothal. And lest there be any attempt at discussion as to how sodium pentothal can be administered in pill form – well just consider it a stupendous feat of transfiguration.

"Web-eye?" Snape said, not yet in full control of his tongue. Or maybe it was the verbal center of his brain. There were other things he was no longer in control of, but those could wait.

It was Hagrid who answered – dear, beloved Hagrid, Snape thought foggily, who was always there when Snape needed him. "Well, about that…" Hagrid said. "Y're in…"

"Silence!" a razor-sharp voice cried, slicing through sentiment like a chopping knife on Iron Chef. A harsh, unmusical voice. Bella's voice.

"Wasee dune inna cassle?" Snape whispered to Hagrid, but even as he spoke, the brightness was resolving into colors… chartreuse and magenta plaid. Dark blobs took shape as furniture, sofas and chairs, and in those sofas and chairs sat figures. Sheepish, hunched over, defeated figures with long silver beards, and red, viperish eyes, and spiky black hair…

"P'fessa Dubbadoe?" Snape shook his head to clear the cobwebs that blocked neural transmissions from his medulla oblongata to the intrinsic muscles of his tongue. "Lord? Potter!" He tried to move, only to find that his broken foot was now encased in plaster past his knee. "What happened?"

"A simple matter of military mathematics," said Headmistress McGonagall from behind her desk. "An undisciplined force, minus its commanders, generally equals defeat. Bella took out Albus, though not as permanently, it would seem, as she intended, then Poppy got you. By the way, how are your metatarsals?"

"Fine. But why didn't Madame Pomfrey just heal the bones? Why the cast?"

"Casts are very useful things for young men who have a tendency to be too mobile."

"I'm thirty-seven. I'm not that young."

"Relatively speaking of course." McGonagall smiled sweetly. "How on earth did you manage to break them in the first place?"

"Grumpy!" Snape cried, remembering.

"Now, now," pointed out Dumbledore. "There is no need to insult Minerva, especially when she has the upper hand."

"No, you don't understand," Snape explained. "Grumpy's a dwarf. In the kitchen."

"I thought I knew all of them," mused Dumbledore. "Dobby and Winky, of course. Then there's Sniffy, and Jaunty, and Goopy… I do not recall a Grumpy… and really, Severus, I don't think they would appreciate being called dwarfs."

"Dwarfs," Snape insisted. "Not house-elves, dwarfs. There's Dopey, too. And I imagine there's Sleepy, and Sneezy, and Happy, and Bashful, and Doc!"

"Bashful and Doc?" said Dumbledore. "What kind of names are those for house-elves?"

"Dwarfs! They're dwarfs! They're holding the house-elves prisoner."

"That is just silly, Severus. Nothing can hold a house-elf prisoner."

"I am more interested," interjected McGonagall, "in how Grumpy broke your foot."

"I got it caught in a door he was trying to close."

"Oh dear. That was less than wise."

"You live and learn. How _are_ they controlling the house-elves?"

"That's very simple," said McGonagall with what, in another person, might have been a simper, but on McGonagall's face it was a smirk. "The house-elves are required, by contract, to obey the headmaster. Or in this case, the headmistress. Strictly speaking, they are not prisoners; they have merely acquired another level of administrative supervision."

"Does it have anything to do with the mines under the castle?" Snape asked innocently.

"How do you know about the mines?" McGonagall and Dumbledore exclaimed simultaneously, then stared at each other across the office and repeated, on a more personal level, "How do _you_ know about the mines?"

"I stumbled across them in my fifth year," said McGonagall. "After I left Hogwarts, it took me twelve years of intricate spell work to get Dippet to the point of being a blithering idiot, forcing the Deputy Headmaster to take over most of his work and freeing up the Transfiguration job. Since then I've been biding my time. You have no idea how thrilled I was at the end of last school year when Severus here decided to avenge himself…"

"I was following orders," Snape pointed out, looking to Dumbledore for confirmation.

"…decided to avenge himself for all those years of being insulted, browbeaten…"

"Tell her I was following orders," Snape hissed at Dumbledore.

"…overworked, underpaid, and denied a promotion…"

"On the other hand, I may have a legal case – extreme mental cruelty, or temporary…"

"He was following orders," said Dumbledore.

The door to the office opened at that moment, and Hermione Granger entered, with Ginny Weasley immediately behind, followed by Lobelia Turnipseed and Saramantha Pushcart. "The school is secured," Hermione told McGonagall, totally ignoring the four men and Harry. "We had a little trouble with Ravenclaw. Apparently the girls there think they already have the upper hand, but Luna talked to them about the balance of power, and they came around."

"There is no balance of power," said McGonagall. "Not anymore."

"Exactly," Hermione replied.

"Wait a minute!" Snape cried. "You mean this is all about gender? Feminine domination? But you had male Death Eaters fighting for you!"

"Well," McGonagall smiled shyly, "I will admit there was a wee bit of deception going on there, but they're not the brightest pennies in the mint. After all, the real threats have been sitting in Azkaban for more than a year. Not that they were much better. No offense, dear, I hope," she added, looking over at Bella.

"I never did have any trouble wrapping Dolph and Rabs around my little finger," said Bella with a shrug.

"And what's left –" McGonagall continued, "Carrow, Yaxley, Greyback – would be a waste of a good frontal lobotomy."

A protest had apparently been rising in Potter for the last ten minutes, for he suddenly blurted out, "What have you done with Ron, you traitor? He'd never give in to this kind of tyranny!"

"Ron has been trailing after me like a faithful lapdog," Hermione sneered. "I swear, we're going to have to donate his hormones to science."

Snape had been thinking (not too quickly, of course; the sodium pentothal had taken a toll). "Let me get this straight. Are you telling me the girls were on McGonagall's side all along?"

"Of course not," said McGonagall. "That's what I meant earlier about taking out the commanders. Albus was the first to be _hors de combat,_ as it were, and Tom is little better than Ron."

"She knows my name," H-W-M-N-B-N sighed.

McGonagall didn't even glance at him. "Once you put yourself at Poppy's mercy, the battle was over. It did take a little persuasion, but the girls saw reason in the end. I am, after all, in my prime, and there is no force in the world that can best a woman in her prime. You already heard from my lieutenants that the boys were a pushover."

"And the teachers?" Snape insisted. "There are male teachers and staff, you know."

"Ah, yes." McGonagall counted them on her fingers. "Flitwick, Slughorn, Carrow, Binns, Filch – just which of them were you expecting to stand up against us? Filius tried, dear little man, but one against a hundred fifty – Poppy's repairing him even as we speak. No, the only danger is securely locked in this room."

"What about the ministry?" Snape asked. "They're going to notice right about the time they need to meet their next payroll."

"You forget that there's no place more secure or impregnable than Hogwarts. We have supplies. We can withstand a siege."

Snape turned to the four girls. "I can't believe you've let yourselves be conned into abetting this woman's megalomania. She's just using you to get what she wants."

"Logical error," Hermione said. "You've made the false assumption that what she wants is different from what we want."

"You're not going to get away with this!"

"The way I see it," said Ginny, "is we have a secure base, a ton of magic, food that'll last decades, and a fabulously productive gem mine. Not to mention owls for mail order service."

"And loads of boys at our beck and call," added Saramantha. "Don't leave that out."

"What about personal integrity?" Snape pressed them. "She's already sold us out. She'll sell you out, too, when it suits her."

"Personal integrity," giggled Lobelia. "Let me see if I have the story straight. You sold out the wizarding world to You-Know-Who. Then you sold out your old girlfriend for personal advantage. Then you sold out You-Know-Who to Dumbledore…"

"Wait a minute," ventured H-W-M-N-B-N, but no one paid any attention to him.

"Bottom line," Snape said. "Who do you think has your best interests at heart, Professor McGonagall or me?"

"Professor McGonagall!" the girls chorused as if it were a no-brainer. Behind the desk, McGonagall leaned back in her chair in satisfaction, a beam of triumph in her eye and a smile of victory on her face. At her side, Bella crossed her arms on her chest and grinned.

Snape wasn't through driving his own coffin nails. "Who's going to see you get the best deal in life, me or Professor McGonagall?"

"Professor McGonagall!"

"Who understands best the way you think?"

"Professor McGonagall!"

"Who can anticipate your every need?"

"Professor McGonagall!"

"Your every wish?"

"Professor McGonagall!"

"Your every action?"

The response was a little slower this time as this sank in. "Professor McGonagall," was the slightly less than enthusiastic reply.

"Who's easier to manipulate, me or Professor McGonagall?"

Lobelia's reactions were the swiftest. Faster than Sammy Davis Jr. with a six-shooter her wand was in her hand and pointed at McGonagall. _"Petrificus totalus!"_ she screamed, and McGonagall went rigid as a board.

It was determined at the medical hearing at St. Mungo's that Professor McGonagall had suffered a nervous breakdown as a result of the added pressures of being headmistress while continuing to teach full time. "The paperwork alone," Snape testified in her defense, "would drive anyone crazy. I would have started feeding students to the squid weeks ago." It was not a good sign that the attending Board of Governors all jotted this statement down in their notebooks.

The next question was who would be the new headmaster of Hogwarts.

"I really think it ought to be me," Dumbledore told everyone who would listen. "I have the prior job experience and an excellent set of credentials, not to mention a sterling recommendation from the previous headmaster."

"You were the previous headmaster," Snape pointed out. "It doesn't count."

"I take it then that you want the job?"

"Not unless everyone wants the squid to develop a weight problem. You might, you know, consider going back into teaching. I understand the Transfiguration job is open."

The three of them were sitting at a table in the Three Broomsticks. Dumbledore drummed his fingers on the wood, then stroked his beard. "On the other hand, there is also the position in Dark Arts now that poor Amycus has toddled off to Azkaban."

"No," said Snape. "Absolutely not. I'm the Dark Arts teacher. I waited for years for it, I got it, and I'm going to keep it."

"But you forget, Severus, the job is cursed. No one can keep it for more than a year. You had your year, now it is my turn."

"Cursed?" said H-W-M-N-B-N, taking a sip of his fire whiskey, choking, and blowing the brown liquid out through the slits of his nose. "That's some trick. I bet it would take a really powerful wizard to curse a job like that," he went on after the other two had patted him on the back for several minutes.

"But Tom…" Dumbledore seemed confused. "You're the one who cursed it."

"Who told you that? Honestly, Albus, you have to stop jumping to wild conclusions. Why would I put a curse on a job I never really wanted in the first place? Give me a break."

"I have a great idea," said Snape as they paid the bill and strolled together back up to the castle. "Why don't I take Dark Arts, Professor, you take the Transfiguration position, and the Dark Lord here can be the headmaster. You've always wanted to control Hogwarts, haven't you, sir? And this way you get the pension plan, and the life insurance policy, and…"

"Vacation time?" H-W-M-N-B-N asked hopefully.

"Six weeks a year," said Dumbledore. "There are worse ways to make a living."

"I don't know. Winters at Hogwarts would cut down on my skiing at St. Moritz…"

The three of them were still discussing the options in the staff room well into the evening.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

**Here ends the 'story,' such as it is.**


End file.
